


Perils of the Self-Domesticating Vampire

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Community: seasonal_spuffy, Engagement, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-14
Updated: 2011-04-28
Packaged: 2019-09-12 20:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16879032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: After getting caught out with Anya in the episode "Entropy", Spike makes a drastic ploy to heal Buffy's hurt: he proposes.





	1. Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'ed by **snickfic**. I must sing her praises, because that's all the pay she's getting!
> 
> I wrote this for **seasonal_spuffy** , and I'll be posting a chapter a day, starting today.
> 
> Sorry, fans of the slashy Spike abuse! It's fluffy Spuffy!

Spike ran down the sidewalk, calling breathlessly, “Buffy!”

She stopped on the second step up to the porch, but didn’t look back at him. She heard him come to a stop behind her. “Buffy, please?”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” she said.

“I want to make it right,” he said.

She turned, hand on the railing. “You can’t, Spike. There’s nothing to put right. Just… go home.”

“We were drunk, love. Out of our minds, and I would never have done it, if I’d known…”

“That I could see you?”

He scowled. “No! That it would hurt you.” He reached for her hand.

She leaned back. “Spike, what’s done is done. I need some time to deal. We both need to just… deal. I’m tired, and I still have to patrol tonight.”

“All right, I’ll make this quick.” He dropped to one knee. “Buffy, will you marry me?”

Buffy swayed a bit, gripping the porch railing for support, before blinking, shaking her head, and saying, “What?”

He gazed up at her, earnest and hopeful. “Will you marry me? Make me the happiest of vampires. Don’t have a ring at present, but…”

Buffy backed away from him, up to the porch. “Are you mental? I just saw you with someone else! And I’m trying not to be angry, because I know I dumped you, and it’s not fair to be angry, but I am. You broke my heart and I broke yours. There is no more us. So what, in the bizarre world of your brain, would make you think now is a good time to propose marriage?”

“It’s the perfect time, because I was thinking, see, you think you don’t love me...”

Buffy closed her eyes. “Can you please stop arguing with me about what I feel?”

“But you do love weddings! We both know how your heart goes pitter-pat at the thick glossy pages of bridal magazines. And you also don’t want anyone else to have me – that’s crystal clear. So make me yours! That’s what marriage is about, isn’t it? Not love, no matter what the adverts make you think, it’s about me, being yours. Never having to be hurt that way again.”

She stared blankly at him. He scooted a little closer on his knees. Again, she avoided his hand when he reached for hers.

“Say yes, and it’ll be just the way you dreamed. Sunny afternoon in the park? Done! I’ll carry an umbrella. You want Angel on the invite list? I’ll make him best man. And I’ll dance to ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ and love it because you love it. Hell, the song’s so universally hated, it may as well be punk.” He shrugged, and looked up at her expectantly.

Buffy turned and ran into the house.

Spike stopped with one foot on the porch, one on the middle stair, as he heard her twist the deadbolt home. He sagged, reaching toward the door a moment helplessly, but then he straightened and tugged his shirt down. “Ring. I need to get a ring. That’ll do it.” And he hopped over the steps and took off running for his crypt, vampire fast, already calculating what, among his scavenged possessions, was actually worth hocking.

Inside the house, Buffy leaned against the comforting solidity of her front door, feeling… feeling like she’d felt too many feelings for one day, thanks.

Two hours ago, she had a free evening and a semi-crack team lined up to thwart their current, albeit lame, nemeses. Now she had shame, shock, a messy living room, and no idea where Dawn was. No plans for dinner. Willow’s computer stuff was still all over the dining table, and there were crusty cereal bowls on the coffee table. The weight of the world.

Wearily she pulled herself up the stairs and to her room. She wanted to brush her hair at least before patrol. Or maybe change clothes. These clothes had had too busy a day, already.

Instead she found herself digging through her jewelry box, pulling out the heavy chunk of metal that sat like a meatball in the spaghetti of her silver necklaces and bracelets. It was as ugly as she remembered, cheap unidentified metal with sloppily-applied black enamel around the grinning skull. She remembered Spike hurriedly checking over his rings before selecting it. She remembered his self-deprecating laugh when it fell off her finger the first time, and the tender way he’d wrapped a string around the band to tighten it.

Dawn walked in on her staring at the ugly skull ring, and gasped. “Spike. Omigawd. Is… is he…?”

“He’s fine,” Buffy said, hurriedly dumping the ring back in the box. She rubbed her eyes, lest there was the tiniest hint of moisture, and pasted on a smile. “Xander might have wanted to stake him, but I got there in time.”

Dawn looked from the jewelry box back to Buffy. “Okay, so what’s with the ‘oh precious memento of my dear departed’ moment?”

“This isn’t a… whatever you just said.” Buffy started brushing her hair with a vengeance. “I was just thinking about… that time.”

Dawn plopped down on the bed. “It was kind of fun. I, for one, approved Spike’s plan to have black leather bridesmaid dresses.” She tilted her head. “Wait… wait a sec… you’re jealous!”

“No!” Buffy said, and a little too quickly, “Ew. Not at all. Spike? He’s… he’s…” All the usual insults failed her. She was shocked by her own inability to continue the sentence. She couldn’t remember what Spike used to be to her.

“Oh my god. You are! But Buffy, it was a spell, and a long time ago. Before I was real. Er… you know what I mean.”

Buffy turned and grasped her sister’s hand. “You were real. Spike said you could be a bridesmaid and I said no, I wanted you to be flower-girl, and we got in a big argument because you said you were way too old to be a flower girl. We both remember it. You are always real to me.”

Dawn smirked and patted Buffy’s wrist. “This isn’t that after-school special. I’m fine, but thanks; it’s good to know I can still make you feel guilty.”

“You’re evil.”

“Yeah, so are we going to have dinner sometime tonight?”

Buffy grimaced and wiped her hands on her pants. “Right. I think there’s some…” Her mind blanked on what food-like stuff could possibly be in their kitchen. Cheese Whiz?

Numbly, she walked out of the bedroom. At the top of the stairs, Dawn caught her elbow.

“You _are_ jealous.”

“I’m just trying to think of something for us to eat. How about cheese pizza?”

Dawn gave her the patented perfect kid-sis-knows-better face. “The way you ran out of here after Xander? The way you were staring at that ring, thinking about the fake engagement? I’m not stupid, Buffy. What aren’t you telling me? What did he do?”

Buffy bit her lip and slumped a little. “There’s… look, you’ll probably hear it from Xander, anyway.”

“Yeah, with all the hanging around Xander is doing, lately.”

Buffy leaned against the wall, looking so lost that Dawn tugged her into a hug.

“Fine. Come on, let’s eat whatever we can find and talk about how men suck. But take notes – I’m expecting you to do the same for me when I finally get a boyfriend.”


	2. The Ring

“And there’s the way they smell,” Dawn made a gagging face, which wasn’t very encouraging considering she was stirring the mac n’ cheese they were going to have for dinner. “Have boys never discovered the wonders of soap? It’s like… wet dog.”

“Grave dirt,” Buffy supplied. “Moldy crypts and dried blood.”

Dawn stopped stirring and looked back at her. “You know, you should try dating the living.”

“I did. The living preferred the dead.” Buffy plucked listlessly at her hair, looking up at it and wondering if a cream rinse would be enough to combat the combination of high emotion, battle and doublemeat grease.

Dawn set the macaroni pot on the counter in front of Buffy and stuck two forks in it. “Great. Because you look kinda dead.”

Buffy groaned and buried her head in her folded arms.

“Come on.” Dawn poked her elbow. “You always have these, like, totally hot guys following you around like starving puppies. Admit it – it’s nice, isn’t it? Having boys be all into you and stuff?”

Buffy picked up her fork. “Yeah,” she said, exhaling with the weight of finally admitting something to herself, “It’s nice.”

“So spill, what’s with the sudden Spike-love?” Dawn dropped her chin on her hand with an attentive look.

“Spike-love? There is no Spike-love!” Buffy stared at her, feeling the opening, the moment she could bare her soul and let it all come clean. 

Still watching attentively, Dawn speared some macaroni.

Buffy sighed. She couldn’t do it. “It’s not like that. It’s just… he was supposed to be stalking me, all in love.” Buffy poked at her macaroni, not feeling hungry. “I guess I started trusting him to always be there.”

She looked at Dawn, wondering if she could hear the truth in the lie, and also which she was more afraid of.

***

“Two thousand? This is a bloody classic!” Spike touched the Desoto as though to comfort her from hearing the disappointing offer.

The owner and operator of Happy Dan’s Celebrity Used Cars was not impressed. He raised his eyebrows, which made the blue tufts on the tips of his ears bob. They were the only outward sign of his demonic heritage, unless you counted his attitude. “You wanna take it up with some other dealer, be my guest. I’m sure there are lotsa guys in Sunnydale, California open after dark and willing to take a beat-up vandalized hunk of junk like that with no title papers. Maybe the tooth fairy’ll give you twenty-five hundred.”

Spike scowled down at the scratched black paint. “She’s a limited run, still has factory paint, almost all original parts, and I’ve had it over a decade so you don’t need to worry about the previous owner showing up.”

Dan clasped his heart. “Stolen? That’s a real shock. You’re a real genius, aren’t you? Just keep talking me down.”

Spike growled. “I said it’s been a soddin’ decade.”

“All right, if you’re telling the truth about how hot it is not, I’ll give you that twenty-five hundred.”

Spike chewed his lip, thinking. “I need enough money to buy a diamond big enough to blow her eyes out of their sockets.”

“In the market for an engagement ring? My cousin Dave has a few rings that fell off a truck. Very nice, not traceable.”

“Sod off. If I wanted stolen jewelry, I’d steal it. My girl’s got to have a diamond that’s come by honestly.”

“Nothing honest about how you’ve been treating this beautiful piece of Detroit steel. But I tell you what – since it’s an affair of the heart and all, I’ll make a deal. You clean the windows off, I’ll give you another hundred.”

“Make it three thousand.”

“Fuck you!”

“Three thousand and I don’t bite you?” Spike offered.

“I’m a businessman who stays open past dark in Sunnydale. Don’t insult me. Two G’s and six.”

“Three thousand and I kill a demon of your choice?”

“You sound like a man who has a ring in mind.”

“Is that a yes?”

Dan smiled. “You’re a good kid. Come on back to my office and we’ll make it a deal. Incidentally, you ever hear of Kelley’s Blue Book?”

“Is that a diamond store?”

“Naw, forget I mentioned it. Let’s get you your three grand and make a nice, legal-ish title for this old car.”

***

Spike sprinted up the front steps of Buffy’s house, clutching the ring box inside his coat pocket. He stopped in front of the door, though, slightly out of breath. A tiny voice in the back of his brain was asking what kind of idiot he was to come up with this plan.

That little voice was always late to the party. Spike pulled the door open without knocking and barreled straight into Xander.

“What are you doing here?” they asked each other in stereo, and then glared equally, fists balled.

“Why don’t you bugger off? You’re good at that, aren’t you?”

“Just a bit more, Fangless. Give me an excuse to kick your sorry ass.”

Willow ran in, laptop in hand. “Woah. Okay… this isn’t good. Can we not kill each other right now?”

“Will!” Xander turned his back on Spike, hands out. “Don’t worry. There aren’t enough words to describe how unimportant Spike is. I just ran into Warren. Or rather, my face ran into him…”

“Never mind this wanker,” Spike shouldered past Xander. “Where’s Buffy? I have something for her. Something vitally important.”

Xander looked disgusted. “You don’t have anything for anyone. Nothing anyone sober and in their right mind is interested in.”

“I know you’re annoyed because I’m hotter, plaid boy. Though maybe it’s just that even a soulless beast wouldn’t do something so asinine and hurtful as leave a bird at the altar.” Spike raised his chin. “Or is it knowing that I’ve got a bigger…”

***

A dull shudder went through the house, followed by another heavy thud and shouting – Willow’s voice carrying over two lower male voices.

Buffy groaned, leaning back against the rim of the tub. “One hour? Could I get one hour to myself? No, of course not.” 

She wrapped her sopping hair in a towel and threw on her robe, not sure what taking the time to dry would cost her in property damage.

Willow met her on the stairs, eyes wide with panic. “I could cast a spell,” she said. “To stop them. Buffy, should I?”

Another thud caused the light fixtures to rattle and flicker. Buffy tightened her robe-sash. “Just leave it to me,” she said.

Xander was crouched over the fireplace. Two black denim-clad legs sprawled out behind him. He raised the fire poker in one hand and brought it down.

“Xander!” Buffy ran up to him, grabbing the weapon as he swung back again.

Spike’s face was bloody and he hung limply from Xander’s grip on his shirt. Buffy wrenched the poker out of Xander’s hand and pushed him back.

“He started it!” Xander pointed at Spike.

Spike’s eyelids were fluttering in a way that made Buffy suspect that he had tried to get a swing in, the stupid vampire. She looked for a place to put the poker, which was covered in blood at one end. Gingerly she set it on the already blood-splattered hearth. “Is this going to happen every time you two are in the same room together?”

“Buffy, he has no right to be here. Not after what he did.”

Buffy put her hands on her hips. “What he did? How about what you did?”

Xander looked pained. “Am I going to have to apologize every day for the rest of my life for this? I couldn’t go through with it. Yes, I’m a coward. It’s marriage, Buffy! It’s kind of a big deal decision and maybe I…”

“Xander, that was a bad decision. Poor timing. Really jerky. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about you beating on someone who can’t fight back. Twice, now. I don’t blame you for the first time – you were out of your mind. But right now you’re crossing a line.”

Xander looked down at Spike, who despite having a gash in his forehead and blood dripping down over one eye, managed to smirk smugly at him. Then the effort was too much and he fell over.

Willow crossed over to Spike and stood over him. “Um… I think he’ll be okay? I mean, vampire, right? Oh, Xander! How could you do this?”

“He’s evil! And can I tell you how much he started it? He knows he can’t fight back. It doesn’t stop him from picking fights, does it? And you know how he has this way of saying just exactly the wrong thing. It’s like he sees the big shiny ‘don’t press’ button and can’t stop pressing it. I can’t believe I’m the one who has to explain himself.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “So he was acting like Spike? Gee, I’m shocked. I’m not expecting you to like him, or even put up with him, but I can’t be always pulling you apart like this.”

Spike coughed, raising up with Willow’s hand on his back. “’Sallright.” He spat a blob of blood at the bricks next to his elbow. “I’ll just do what I came here to do and be off.”

Xander flexed his fist, looking mildly guilty, and angry for feeling guilty, he tore his gaze away from Spike’s struggle to get up. “Buffy, I just came to tell you – Warren’s gotten super-powers somehow. He’s at this bar downtown.”

Spike shrugged away from Willow’s hold, and took a step forward, holding a ring box out. “Buffy? Will you marry me?”

He swayed, flipping the ring-box open to show the diamond ring inside. Buffy gaped. Xander looked like he doubted his own sanity. Willow stepped forward to get a better look. And then Spike’s eyes rolled up and he fell face-first into Buffy, who caught him by the shoulders.

“Wow,” said Willow. “That was random.”


	3. The Answer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! Have some Spuffy engagement! Yay!

Spike came to on a sofa. He raised his head and blinked at the crocheted afghan flung over him. He groaned, head falling back on a hard pillow.

“You’re awake,” Buffy said. He groaned again and covered his eyes. She was standing over him. He could smell the slightly greasy, slightly dusty scent of microwave-reheated blood.

He peeked at her. “I don’t suppose you think it’s manly, fainting like a nancy?”

“I have no opinion on fainting guys. However, I don’t think it’s particularly grown-up to bait Xander until he beats you to a pulp. Now drink this.”

Spike scooted up to a sitting position and took the coffee mug from her. Buffy sat on the coffee table next to him. She rotated the ring box in her hands between her knees while he drank. When he finished, she held the box up and asked, “Where did you get this?”

“Pawn shop,” he said. “Those are still legal, questionable though they may be.”

Buffy looked down at the box. “Spike…”

“I sold the Desoto.” Spike set the mug on the table next to her and took her hands, held them cradled against the box. “Knew you wouldn’t want anything stolen.”

She stood and stepped out of his hold. “You stole the Desoto!”

“You don’t know that!” Buffy folded her arms and raised one eyebrow. “All right, yes, I nicked the car – but that was decades ago and I loved that car! Doesn’t that sacrifice count for something?”

She covered her eyes. “And I suppose ‘nicked’ really means ‘killed the owner’.”

“Uh… no?”

Spike looked so patently dishonest, it was cute. And cute was oh so wrong a thing for a murderer to be. Buffy sighed. “You just don’t get it. I know you’re trying, but I can see how far ‘it’ and you are from each other.” She started to turn away.

“But you told Xander he had to put up with me just being me. Yeah? And I thought…” He jumped up, stumbling on the afghan that now wrapped around and between his legs, and ended up grabbing her arm more for support than to stop her from going. Buffy covered her mouth with one hand, which did little to hide her laugh.

Spike wobbled precariously, and scowled in annoyance, which just made Buffy laugh harder. She gently pushed him back toward the couch. “Just… sit. I’ll get you more blood.” She snatched up the mug and beat a hasty retreat.

Spike held his head in his hands and muttered, “When a bloke says he wants to make a girl laugh, this isn’t what he imagines.”

When Buffy returned, he had composed a proper, serious face, hands clasped, back straight. “Love, if it matters that much to you, I can get a sodding job. A real one. And I’ll find the descendants of the bloke who had the car first and pay them back. I’d do that for you.”

She sat opposite him. “That’s the whole problem, Spike; you’d just be doing it for me.”

“So? The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Why can’t the road to heaven have bad ones?”

She frowned, and he thought he might have gotten through to her at last. Then she pushed the coffee mug at him. “Drink up. I have to go beat up some nerds.”

He watched her flip open the weapon chest and test the heft of a battle-ax.

“What’s this, then?” He glanced at the curtains, the sunlight shining, filtered through them. “It’s hardly save the day time.”

“Ha. Shortly after you clonked out last night, Willow told me she and Tara had found out the nerd’s next target. Armored car delivery, at the bank at 10am. I have to get moving.”

Spike set down his mug. “I’ll come with.”

Buffy turned to the window and then to him. “Uh… flammable, anyone?”

“I’ll stick to the shadows.” Spike stood and hitched his jeans up.

“Yeah, so you can help me fight the HUMAN nerds. She picked up her jacket, paused, turned back and set the ring box on the coffee table. “Just stay here.”

“Keep it,” Spike said, picking up the ring box.

Buffy backed to the door. “Drink the blood. Heal up. Don’t make me remember that I’m mad at you, you jerk.”

Spike blinked. He had, actually, forgotten she was mad at him. And then she was out the door.

He looked down at the afghan at his feet, which was obviously inadequate to his needs, and crossed over to the other couch, pulling a more solid blanket off it.

Dawn looked up at him from the breakfast island. She quickly moved to stand in front of the back door, her cereal spoon still in hand. “Uh-uh.”

Spike held up his hands, letting the blanket fall about his shoulders. “What, did Buffy plant you as the rear guard? I’m not going to immolate myself, you know. I’ve been dodging the sun longer than you’ve been alive. Well, figuratively speaking.” He frowned, knowing that didn’t come out right.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “No, stupid. You have to give her a bit more of a head start than that. So she’ll think you tried to do as she said but were just overcome with love.”

Spike blinked, and a slow grin grew over his face. “God, Bit! You’re brilliant.”

“I know,” she said.

“Right.” Spike clapped his hands, looked around the kitchen. “Uh… about… things.”

“If I caught my boyfriend with one of my friends, I’d set fire to his hair. Probably his pubic hair.”

“Uh… right.” Spike scratched his chin. “You know, I think that’s enough of a wait. I’ve got to take the longer route and all. Out of the sun?”

“Okay you can go.” Dawn stepped aside with the air of a saintly queen granting a mighty favor. “Oh, but Spike?” She touched his elbow before he opened the door. “Cheat on my sister and I’ll disembowel you. With this spoon.” She poked his arm with the spoon for emphasis.

Spike chuckled and planted a kiss on Dawn’s forehead. “I love Summers women,” he said, and adjusted the blanket over his head.

There were four bank branches in Sunnydale. Two were on opposite sides of town, but the other two were practically next door to each other. Hoping for luck, he headed that way, through the sewers to the alleyway that had good shade by the Magic Box. It would be just a few storefronts from there. The only dangerously long stretch was the bank parking lots themselves, and he had the blanket for that.

No sooner was he out of the sewer and under the awning of the bookstore next door to the Magic Box than he knew he was in the right place. He’d tell her later it was Buffy’s lingering scent, but really it was the explosive sound of a brick wall being hit hard, and then stones crumbling to the ground. A puff of smoke rose over the side of First National Trust. Abandoning his planned route, Spike hoisted his blanket and ran straight across the sunlit expanse between him and the modest brick building.

He threw himself into the slight shadow around a corner and patted desperately at his shin, where smoke wafted out of his jeans from the long exposure. He looked up and then gasped again.

Buffy was fighting the robot-boy, but he was deflecting her blows easily. Then he kicked her and she staggered back.

Spike ran from the shadow without thinking, letting his blanket flutter to the ground behind him as he let loose a volley of attacks that lasted four seconds. The chip fire was hard enough he didn’t even feel himself being thrown through the air. He did, however, feel a few bricks rain down on him, one smacking him right where Xander had gotten him with the poker across the forehead. Murphy’s law had brilliant aim.

There was the sound of an engine starting, then another, some shouting and crying from the nerd boys. He tried to get up again, but then it all went black.

***

“Stupid vampire.”

Spike awoke to someone poking his face. He hissed in pain and it stopped. Slowly the blurry colors in front of his eyes resolved into Buffy’s face. “Willow is bringing her car around so we can get you home. You’re lucky Warren knocked you into the shade; you know that, right? And you KNEW they were human. You just… god I could beat you black and blue if you hadn’t done it for me already.” She jabbed him hard, though, in the ribs, and looked away, the sunlight touching her face, making a tear on her cheek glisten.

He reached for her cheek. “Is that for me? I’ve done it. I’ve gone to heaven.”

“Idiot,” she said, sternly watching the road for signs of Willow.

He had nothing to say in response. She had a very valid point, considering how he felt at the moment, and how effective he’d been. He shifted slightly, trying to get the stabbing ache out of his chest so he could breathe.

Not looking back at him, Buffy said, “If I said I would marry you, would you stay put when I tell you?”

Spike raised his head and stared at her. She glanced back at him. “Shut up,” she said.

He smiled. “I would walk over hot coals. I would swim in holy water. I would…”

“Just start with not getting yourself dusted.”

A thin laugh escaped from Spike. “We’ll add ‘obey’ to the vows, shall we?”

Buffy’s scowl didn’t quite cover up her concern for him, and Spike closed his eyes, content that he was in her hands. “Don’t laugh, slayer. I’m taking that conditional ‘yes’ and holding you to it.”

“Stupid, idiot vampires,” she said, but her hands were hot and firm on his.


	4. The Engagement Announcement

Buffy came home from work the next day to find Spike and Dawn conspiring together on the couch. Dawn quickly jumped up as Buffy entered the room. “Hey! Can I go to Janice’s?”

“Okay, that’s not suspicious at all. I thought Willow was going to vampire-sit?”

Dawn jumped up and down a little, hands clasped. “She’s with Tara.”

“Ain’t love grand?” Spike offered from the couch, smirking like he was personally responsible for Willow and Tara’s reconciliation, which of course he was not. He probably had only just heard of it from Dawn. Buffy gave him her best “I’m on to you” scowl.

“So, anyway – Janice’s? Her mom’s making turkey noodle casserole.”

Buffy looked dejectedly down at the bag of Doublemeat leftovers she’d brought home, realizing that turkey noodle casserole was all it took to outshine her domestic skills. “Um… yeah, sure.”

As Dawn dashed by in a squeal of delight, Buffy quickly added, “But be home before dark! Or have Janice’s mom drop you off!”

“Bit’s just excited. The birds are back together; the nerd menace has abated.” Spike clasped his hands behind his head. “Everything’s just peachy.”

Buffy dropped her purse and the bag of burgers on the coffee table. “You certainly seem a lot better.”

He winked. “It’s the awesome curative powers of the love of the right woman.”

Buffy rolled her eyes as she marched into the kitchen. The fridge, alas, had not magically produced any new beverages to go with her doublemeat dinner. In fact, it had also failed to remove the carton of spoiled milk she kept forgetting to throw out on garbage night. The fridge door closed with a defeated sound. Buffy sat down and unwrapped her slightly cold, slightly squished dinner.

“Gonna share that?” Spike slouched against the doorway, the afghan from the couch still wrapped cape-like around him.

Buffy pulled the burger closer to her chest, then almost laughed, because Spike had succeeded in making her actually want to eat it. She let her head rest against her wrist, the soft bun near her cheek. Spike’s shadow moved across the table, his footsteps slow and dragging.

“Love?”

Buffy straightened and summoned up some cheery bravado. “This may barely count as food, but unlike you, I do need it to survive, so back off.”

He was looking at her in that “I see right through you” way, so she pretended to be interested in the clock and took a bite of her burger.

“Right,” he said, as though answering her – answering some statement she said with her silence. How did he do that?

The afghan dragged gently behind him as he rummaged in the cupboard over the stove. “Cocoa tin’s been empty for ages. How about tea?” He turned around, frowning at a yellow box. “Looks like some herbal shite, but still.” He waved it at her. “It’s got teddy bears on the label so I figure it must have Prozac in it or something.”

“What are you doing?”

Spike rolled his eyes and picked up the teakettle, swishing it to feel how full it was. “Providing a hot beverage for my girl.”

He smirked – sly little glances over his shoulder and out the corner of his eye as he filled the pot and set mugs to the ready.

“Oh my god.” Buffy set down her burger. “You’re enjoying this. You’re… being domestic.”

He scowled, happened to glance down and see the floral afghan on his shoulder, and shrugged it off. “Bugger that. Just trying to cheer up my fiancé.”

“Spike.” Buffy covered her eyes. “I didn’t actually say ‘yes’.”

“Sure you did.”

Oh god, she did. And she’d meant it at the time. But that was crazy. This whole thing was crazy. She forced herself to look him in the eyes, to be Mature Buffy. “It was a joke. I joked that I’d marry you if it would stop your stupid, macho, over-the-top stunts.”

He leaned on the counter and stole a fry from her bag. “You love my stupid, macho, over-the-top-stunts.”

“No, no I don’t.

He stretched back, seeming to consider that, then shrugged. “Be that as it may,” he pulled out the stool next to her and started to lift himself onto it. “You expressed a willingness…” he stumbled and fell.

Buffy dropped her burger and grabbed him. She felt moisture soaking through his t-shirt under her fingers.

“Bollocks,” he said.

Buffy got him settled on the bar stool and he sagged against the counter, head lowered between his arms. After a moment of awkward silence, Buffy wiped her hands on her jeans. “See? That stupid, macho thing? So not loving it.”

“I didn’t fall; the chair moved.”

She bit her lip rather than walk into that gaping opening. Macho. “Anyway, can you give it a rest for tonight? I have to check the back yard for more creepy nerd cameras and patrol tonight. I just want to enjoy my miserable, lonely hamburger in peace.”

He peered at her through his fingers. “You’re not alone.”

The way he said it made her heart do this little squeeze thing and she shifted uncomfortably because there was just something _kinky_ about Spike all domestic in the kitchen.

Her burger had fallen upside-down on the counter. She picked it up and verified it was okay, then set it on its wrapper, straightening the top bun so the bite in it lined up with the bite in the meat and lower bun. “How is it you keep ending up in my house, all injured?”

He huffed a little laugh. “Lucky, I guess.”

It was a little unfair that he looked even more nummy when he was hurt. When Buffy got injured she just looked like a mess. She took another bite of burger. Mmm, savory not-meat. Spike stared at the counter in front of him. Buffy asked, “How long? Until you’re better?”

“Two, three days, tops.” He gestured at his face, where strips of skin were still raw and pink. “The rest is cosmetic. Probably a week for all of it to fade.”

“That’s… handy.”

“Faster than slayer healing?”

“Yeah. A lot faster.”

He gave her a half-smile. “Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

She choked a little on her bite of burger, but swallowed it down. “Well, you do have your handy weaknesses, like that sun thing.”

The teakettle whistled. Spike started to get up, but Buffy stopped him with a glare.

He smiled as she set one of the mugs next to him. “Look at us, having supper together.”

Buffy scooted her chair a little further away from him before sitting down. “Don’t read anything into that.”

He leaned toward her, hands supporting him on the table top. “Come on, Buffy. You’re so good. You deserve to have someone be good to you. And I would. I swear it. I’ll be so good to you. I’ll learn to be good. Just marry me.”

Buffy blushed. She didn’t want to. She wanted to have a ready come-back. But he was right, the evil, scheming man – something about the idea of a wedding made her feel too girly and pleased to think straight. “We just can’t. What would people say?”

“I dunno. Ask them. Hello, Willow.”

Spike hadn’t turned around, he was still facing Buffy, and behind him, a little shock of mussed red hair poked through the doorway to the dinning room. Willow’s face soon followed, slightly flushed and with very wide eyes. She glanced from Buffy to Spike and back again. “Um… hi.”

Oh god, how long had she been there? Buffy stood. “What’s up?”

“Just getting some munchies,” Willow said, and gestured at the cupboard where they kept the cookies and crackers.

“Have at. Is Tara, um, here?”

“She’s upstairs.” Willow suddenly stopped half-way to the cabinet and threw her hand out toward Spike, “Spell be gone!”

There was a moment of silence as Willow stood there, expectantly, arm outstretched. Spike glowered. “I’m not under a spell, witch.”

“Just checking!” Will quickly grabbed a box of cookie crisp from the cabinet and held it in front of her like a shield. “I figured the no magic rule kinda didn’t count if there was, you know, an imminent threat?”

“Spike’s not an imminent threat.”

“Oh, sure.” Willow nodded, backing carefully away. “Magic Disperse!” She flung a hand toward Buffy.

Buffy folded her arms. “Look, whatever you heard us talking about, it… it’s just…” Buffy turned, helplessly, to Spike, hoping he’d fill in something, anything, so she could abdicate the hard job of explaining and just disagree with him.

Willow cleared her throat. “Not my fault,” she said. “I’m way, way sure that this time it’s not my fault.

Spike continued to watch them silently – to watch her, waiting to see what she would do or say. Looking at her like she had to make the right decision or break his heart. It wasn’t fair, that look of his.

She tossed her head back. “Fine. Spike and I have been seeing each other. There. I said it.” She sat back down, staring at her burger. “Oh my god, I said it.”

“So… I’m going to go back upstairs,” Willow said.

“Ta, love,” Spike said. “Go snog your sweetie. You both smell ravishing.”

His voice sounded all leering, but his hand was resting over Buffy’s, stroking her knuckles gently. Sighing, she let him.


	5. Engagement Presents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All love to the beta, **snickfic** , who at this point in the story pointed out I didn't have any external plot. And that pretty much gave me the entire idea for this chapter. bwa ha ha!

Willow and Tara were crouched at the landing halfway up the stairs, whispering to each other. Tara raised her head first, smiling at Buffy in such a sweet, amused way that Buffy almost retreated to the sanctuary of chamomile and Spike.

“Buffy, it’s okay,” Tara said, reaching for her as she started to back away.

“Yeah,” Willow perked up. “It’s sweet, in a way. A weird, wrong way.”

Tara gave her a look. Silent words were mouthed back and forth. Judge-y words, Buffy bet, imagining the worst where she couldn’t quite make it out. Buffy held up her hands. “If you guys aren’t ready to talk about this, believe me, neither am I. We’ll just regroup and, um…”

“I’m glad you told Willow,” Tara came down the stairs to put her hands on Buffy’s. “It’s better to have this out in the open. No secrets, and no judging.”

Willow cleared her throat. “Except for the part where you had a secret with my girlfriend instead of me. Do I not have best friend status anymore?”

“Willow!” Tara shook her head.

“Hey, no secrets,” Willow countered, “I’m just putting that out in the open. Buffy engaged to Spike wakes up some pretty embarrassing memories for me. How am I supposed to know this isn’t all my fault?”

***

Spike set aside his cooling tea – the stuff tasted like pencil shavings anyway – and carefully maneuvered himself off his stool. He made sure to keep a hand on the wall lest he repeat the nancy-boy fall of utmost embarrassment, and pressed his cheek against the cool wood of the door post. Silently, he prayed for Buffy not to blame it all on that stupid spell of Willow’s. It wasn’t that, surely it wasn’t.

“You know, Willow, I really didn’t expect you to make this all about you. Or is this about keeping Tara to yourself again? You know, other people are allowed to be friends with her.”

Spike mouthed “meow” and leaned around the corner to see Buffy in profile, hands on her hips, looking hurt and annoyed and, oh yes, just a tiny bit guilty. Were the big heroes ever free from that? He wanted to barge in there and give them all a piece of his mind for making her feel like that. But he knew that situation would likely end with vampire=bad, friends=right. Tara’s hand reached toward Buffy’s chest, the rest of her blocked from view by the banister, her quiet voice pleading, “Let’s not fight. E-everyone has a right to her feelings and…”

The front door opened with a bang, emitting an expanding trapezoid of harsh white light and a narrow black figure, made more narrow by the trick of brightness bending around him. Spike stepped fully into the doorway, not afraid of being seen eavesdropping anymore, and shielded his eyes, squinting.

“You think you can just do that to me? You think you can get away with that? Well, think again!”

Spike didn’t register the revolver, he didn’t notice himself recognizing the shape or the way Warren raised his arm, he just dove. He felt a bullet hit just under his left breast, a dull hard thud, and his fingertips grazed the hot metal of the barrel before he stumbled and face-planted, his feet tangled in the stupid afghan. He crawled out of it swinging at the blurry shape in front of him, lost in the light. He got a handful of flannel and pulled it toward him. His fist connected something soft and stars exploded behind his eyes.

He fell against the comforting support of the porch railing and heard the slap of Warren’s sneakers retreating down the sidewalk. “He’s getting away!” Spike shouted. He waved again, blinked to clear his vision and turned to hobble back into the shade, waving his hand in front of him as though it would help get his point across. “He’s getting away and I can’t follow him in the bloody sun!”

Leaning heavily against the front door, he saw Willow’s face white and round-eyed, like the moon reflected in the cool still water of the shade. Then he smelled the blood.

Buffy was sprawled on the steps, Tara crouched over her, holding both hands over the spreading red on Buffy’s white sweater.

Willow’s mouth opened and closed. “Oh… oh god.”

Tara’s eyes met hers, calm over panic. “Call 911. Hurry.”

Spike heard a broken, frightened sound, and realized it had come from him. He crawled forward.

She was laying against the bottom of the stairs, staring in shock right at him, over Tara’s arms. Her breaths were coming quick and short, like something hurt when her chest expanded and she had to let go to get to the next breath. He fell at her side.

“Buffy, Buffy, love. You’re going to get through this. You’re going to be all right.”

“Willow called the police,” Tara said. “Don’t move her. I…” She trailed off, face crinkled with concentration.

Spike found Buffy’s left hand and clutched it tight. His thumb brushed the engagement ring on her finger and he nearly lost it.

Buffy pulled in a larger breath. “D-Dawn…”

Spike shook his head. “You’re not going to tell me to look after her, because you’re pulling through and I won’t have to.”

Tara brushed Buffy’s hair back. “Don’t try to talk.” She left a bloody smear on Buffy’s forehead.

Spike heard the sirens start up, too far away. The smell of blood was heady, thick and delicious around him. He turned and snarled at Willow, who was wringing her hands. “Magic her better! I know you can, bloody witch!”

Willow stammered and whimpered and Spike lunged to his feet.

Tara shouted, “Damn it, Spike!”

There was just something unnerving about Tara shouting.

The white witch was hanging over Buffy. “Look,” she said, quietly. A soft white glow limned her hands where they pressed against Buffy.

Spike’s anger evaporated. He folded to the floor like a dropped coat. “Is it working?”

“I’m… I’m holding the wound closed. She’ll be all right.”

Spike almost passed out with relief. He settled back at Buffy’s side, picking up her hand. Her fingers squeezed weakly against his.

He had enough time to start feeling the pain of his own wounds again before the door burst open and the EMT’s shoved him back.

Soon a woman was shining a penlight in his eyes and hands were pushing him back. He swatted away a blood pressure cuff. “Help HER, pillock!”

“Lay down, sir, and remain calm.” A cool rubber-coated hand pressed down on his forehead while other hands were busy cutting away his t-shirt.

“Spike’s fine. He… uh, he has a skin condition.” Willow was pushing her way though EMTs, finally doing something useful. He glared at her.

“Miss, your friend is in shock. He’s been shot.”

Willow twisted around and just about sat on Spike to get between him and the well-meaning med techs. “It’s a costume. Yeah, uh, he’s in a movie? An extra in a night of the living something… anyway he’s fine. Came home from his shoot and we were just talking about it and…”

Mercifully, the crowd moved away from him. He winced as he stood, pain lancing up and down his side from the bullet wound, but a scowl kept the last of the EMTs at bay.

Buffy was a swaddle of white and wires being lifted and rolled out the front door. He leaned against Willow for support, but then she, too, was pulling away from him.

“We’re going to ride with her,” she explained, gently lifting Spike’s hand off her shoulder.

“I’ll…”

“No, Spike. It’s still daytime. And you’ll… you’ll be hard to keep explaining away. We’ll call as soon as we know anything.”

“No…” he staggered after them, bleeding, burnt, wounded. The ambulance doors slammed with finality.

“But he got away,” Spike said, leaning against the porch post. Futilely he watched the ambulance speed away, siren dopplering after it.

Precious seconds wasted standing in shock later, he scented the air for traces of the little shit with the gun. He couldn’t smell much over his own blood.

He went up to the bathroom and tore through the medicine chest and linen closet until he found Buffy’s first aid kit. She had a good one, predictably. As he fished the bullet out with forceps, breathing hard through his nose, he vowed he would catch that Warren bastard. Chip or no, he’d rip his guts out.

He glanced frequently through the door of Buffy’s bedroom, at the red digital clock on her bedstand. Four hours until dusk. He’d clean himself up proper, try to catch a scent trail from the porch, then hit the sewers.

The bullet clattered around as he dropped it into the sink, and he wondered what form of irony it was that he was wishing he’d been paying attention to the slayer’s latest do-gooding plots instead of, well, the slayer.

Warren was human. He had a head start, and Spike was injured.

Spike wrapped his chest tight in gauze. It dug in painfully as he tore the end off, but he grinned savagely through that and made quick work of the knot. Rock and roll. Nothing worth doing was easy, after all, and a girl deserved a nice engagement present.


	6. Invitations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All thanks to the beta, **snickfic** , and all apologies to everyone who thought this chapter would be full of bloody vengeance!

Xander came around the corridor with the zombie-like stare everyone wears in hospitals until they find what they were looking for, a plastic-wrapped bunch of flowers in his fist. Willow hurried to him and he turned to the sound of her approaching footsteps and hugged her hard.

“Is she going to be all right?”

“She’s still unconscious,” Willow sniffled against Xander’s sturdy shoulder. “It’s all my fault.”

“No way.” Xander smoothed her hair with one hand. “How could any of this be your fault? It’s that bastard Warren’s fault, if it’s anyone’s.”

They walked together into the room where Buffy slept, shrouded in hospital sheets and machines that went beep.

“I’m not feeling like friend of the year,” Xander said. “All I can think about is that the last time I talked to Buffy, she was kicking me out of her house.”

“Every time I try to fix anything, make anything better, things just get worse,” Willow lamented. “I couldn’t even help save her – Tara did everything.”

Tara was asleep, flopped sideways in an uncomfortable plastic chair, the lines around her eyes darkened with exhaustion.

“She should go home; she’s wiped.”

Willow shook her head. “We talked about it, but we both want to stay until Buffy wakes up.”

“Then how about I get you lovely ladies some coffee?”

“No!” Willow grimaced at the unnecessarily anxious tone in her voice. She squeezed Xander’s arm. “No coffee. I mean – Tara prefers tea. With milk. Chai or Darjeeling.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Willow looked sadly at Tara. “There’s gotta be something _I_ can do.”

“Well, someone should probably call Giles.”

“Oh. Giles.” Willow dropped into the chair next to Tara, looking suddenly just as tired.

“Just call me caffeine-man,” Xander said. “A friend in need. I’ll call Giles if you call Anya? I’m guessing she doesn’t want to hear my voice long enough to get the message.”

Willow nodded. Xander set his gift shop flowers on the bed beside Buffy and gave her a brief kiss on the brow. “Sorry we didn’t have time to forgive each other before this,” he said.

Willow stood to give him another hug before he left to get them something hot to drink.

***

At Warren’s previous basement address Spike found nothing but an irate woman in her forties doing laundry.

“When you find him, tell him I’ve had it up to here with his disappearances and his friends and his freeloading and his action figures. He’s twenty, for god’s sake! He had a scholarship!”

And then she threw a pair of jockey shorts at Spike, who wisely retreated.

Despite the clear reminder of Warren’s scent, he was no closer to finding the brat. There were no certain trails, and scent-tracking through sewer tunnels had obvious disadvantages.

He had resigned to taking out his frustrations on the sewer denizens when he remembered something Buffy had said. He’d asked her how things were going, trying to be supportive and all, and though he hadn’t paid much attention to her answer, he remembered her saying something like, “Well, two out of three are behind bars, at least. That’s more than average for Sunnydale PD.”

And so he headed to the jail.

Walking willingly into a police station went against every instinct in his body, but he nonchalantly rested his elbow on the narrow ledge in front of the bullet-proof plexiglass window and said, “Hi, where do you keep your nerd-boy bank robbers?”

The uniformed woman behind the counter gave him a deadpan look.

“I’m here to see Jonathan,” Spike explained, trying to look like an upstanding citizen. He scratched his nose. “You’ve got to remember Jonathan. He was in the Matrix… no, you don’t remember. Short bloke, robbed a bank. Him and, um, that other one. Anyway, I’m a dear friend come to visit, pass messages from their mums, stuff like that.”

Now all the faces behind the counter were staring at him.

“So do I just sign a book or something?”

***

“Who ever heard of needing sodding identification to get into a jail,” Spike muttered under his breath, returning from a longer-than-necessary jaunt to Willy’s, where he’d had to do some of his very best threatening to get a driver’s license done that day. He swore it had never taken that long to make a fake ID before.

At least his picture was pretty good. Just the right sort of punk sneer, much better than that Idol bloke.

The jail cops were trained, it seemed, in doing every task as slowly as possible, but finally he was being led up to the holding area. It wasn’t a very big jail, just a few cells on one corridor above the police station - very wild west and suburban at the same time. He bounced on his toes, waiting for the sloth-demon in a police uniform to open the last door.

It utterly ruined his entrance, all this waiting and official key-turning. He dashed past the officer as soon as there was an opening. He followed the scent of virginal nerd-boy to the third cell on the right and slammed his hands against the bars.

“All right, kiddies! It’s Uncle Spike. I’m real brassed off, and I still know where you keep your action figures, so let’s make this brief, shall we? Where’s your leader?”

The two boys in the cell tumbled off their cots in a shower of panic and playing cards as the policeman intoned in a very bored voice, “Stay back from the bars, please.”

“Get us out of here, and we’ll totally be your minions,” Jonathan said with grave seriousness.

“Warren. I want him. Where is he?”

“Get us out, and we’ll…” Jonathan started.

“We have no idea!” The other one interrupted.

Jonathan closed his eyes with a pained expression. He held a hand out as though hoping to stop his friend. “We can find him.”

Spike looked from one to the other. They stank of juvenile hormones and anxiety. “Do I look like a bail bondsman? Answer my question.”

Jonathan looked like he was about to ask what a bail bondsman was when the other one ran to the bars, falling on his knees and clinging to them. “Please, oh powerful Vampyre, do not be angry with my associate for his lack of respect. Warren’s house is on Maple Street. 2185 Maple.”

Spike rolled his eyes, glanced back at the cop, who hadn’t moved a muscle through all of this, and snapped his fingers in twerpy’s face. “Name?”

“A-Andrew, your evilness.”

“Andrew, do I look like a complete idiot?

“No, sir! You are Spike, the Vampyre, locked in a forbidden love with the Slayer of the Vampyres.” Despite quaking in fear, Andrew raised a finger and asked, “But if I can just ask… who was that other girl? In the magick shop? How does she fit into your fateful romance?”

Spike smacked the bars, sending Andrew scuttling back and eliciting another monotone warning from the guard.

“All right, shorty,” he pointed at Jonathan, “please tell me something more useful than the frightening fact that this one can pronounce an extra ‘k’.”

Jonathan shrugged. “We always said we would go to Mexico once we struck it big, lay low there.”

“Is that it, sparky?” He held up a hand as Andrew’s mouth opened, “and if I hear another archaic vowel-substitution out of you I will forget the law is watching.”

Andrew shut his mouth. Jonathan looked apologetic. “We didn’t think about what to do if we failed and got caught. So… here we are.”  
  
Spike kicked the exit door, feeling stupider for having interrogated those two.

At least the sun had set.

***

The sun was rising. Spike had searched Warren’s scent all over town until he couldn’t tell one scent from another anymore. Twice he’d ended up in Laundromats because there was something dirty-sock-ish about the boy.

Tired and defeated, he turned his feet toward Sunnydale General Hospital. He deftly liberated some fresh-ish flowers from a room that was being cleared and tried to find Buffy’s scent through the miasma of hospital odors. After getting chased out of a few restricted areas, he finally found himself in an in-patient corridor. Buffy’s scent was stronger and mingled with those of her friends. His steps quickened, but he stopped well short of the door, where he could just see the profile of Willow’s sleeping face and Xander’s jacket-covered arm supporting it. He moved quietly closer until the whole tableau was revealed – the scoobies gathered around their leader, keeping not-so-vigilant watch.

Despite the cat being out of the proverbial bag, as it were, he was struck with a sudden sense of exclusion. Their warm little bodies, all ringed together, didn’t want to wake to his presence, and he felt them like a moat surrounding his beloved’s castle.

Spike smacked his leg with the bouquet. What drivel!

Still, he didn’t exactly stomp his way up to the bed. He laid the flowers on the little wheeled dining tray. He could hear her steady, strong heartbeat. He brushed his fingers along her forehead and down her cheek. “I’ll find him, love. If it takes my last ounce of strength, I’ll find that coward and bring him to you crawling over glass on his broken knees.”

He placed a little kiss on her forehead and then turned to find Xander awake and looking at him.

Spike rolled his lips inward, and in a much quieter voice than he wanted to, said, “What?”

“Well it’s not exactly love poetry,” Xander replied, with a tiny shrug of the shoulder that didn’t have Willow draped on it.

“Piss off.”

“Kinda can’t,” Xander replied with the same little lift of one shoulder.

“Right, then I will. Hospitals make me hungry, anyway.”

As he passed close to the sleeping scoobies, Xander said, a little louder, “She’s going to be okay, Spike.”

He stopped in his tracks, not quite willing to turn and ask.

Xander must have understood. “The doctors said she might even go home tomorrow, barring, you know, observation or whatever. I’d be home right now, but Will thought we should keep a guard up, in case some demon of the week decides to take her out while she’s weak.”

Xander looked tired, but not the least bit hostile. Still, Spike steeled himself to be smacked down the moment he said, as casually as he could muster, “I could watch her.”

“That’d be great, but I’ve already got the pillow gig going, so I may as well.”

Spike glanced around the small room. There were only the two little plastic chairs, which held Xander and Willow, and the empty bed adjacent, on which Tara was curled up.

Spike walked to the nearest open section of wall and leaned against it, hands in his pockets. “I’d better keep an eye out, too,” he said. “You lot will probably cock it up.”

With a sigh, Xander let his head fall back against the wall, his eyes at half-mast. “Jerk.”

They didn’t say anything else, and after a short while, Xander’s breath was as heavy and even as Willow’s.


	7. Maid of Honor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **snickfic** continues to beta lightning-fast for me as we approach the home stretch!

“Ugh.” Buffy hung up the kitchen wall phone. “It says something about the fast food industry that getting shot in the chest is only worth one day off.”

“I always thought those uniforms were demonic,” Willow offered.

Buffy rolled her right shoulder and sighed, feeling the tightness of healing muscle. Already the tension of the work-week was creeping in on top of the tension of being injured. She needed to think about something else. Slaying – more stress. Dawn – more stress. Willow’s problems… no. Something happy. Her thumb stroked the back of her engagement ring. It gave her a thrill every time she looked down at it - the bright diamond, the simple band, just what she would have picked out.

She hopped onto the bar stool beside Willow and reached into her bag of potato chips. “Speaking of demonic, do you think you could talk to Anya about bridesmaid-ly stuff? You’re going to be maid of honor and all, but she has recent wedding planning experience. Xander’s coming-around-here-guy again, so we need to time things pretty openly and clearly on all sides. I give them about a decade before they can be in the same room again.” Buffy licked her fingers and noticed that Willow was staring at her, mouth slightly agape. “What? Oh, wait, I should have asked, right? I’m just going off these old plans and assuming. I mean, I know that was a spell, then, but the plans? Those were kinda all me. Still going ice blue, though maybe teal, and I want bubbles. Willow? Talk to me, you look like a stunned fish.”

“Uh… stunned, yeah. Shouldn’t we be talking about getting Warren? I sorta thought that whole engagement thing was just something you said to Spike to keep him in line? Like, leading him on?”

Buffy was glad she hadn’t been eating at that moment.. “No! No leading on!” She cleared her throat and tried for a less frantic tone. “I’m not saying it’s going to be a short engagement, but I’d like to quickly get to the point where shopping for a hall doesn’t elicit a friendly intervention.”

“Okay, but, look at it from my point of view – this is really sudden. You weren’t even dating, and now marriage? Like, sure, it’s not as forever as it used to be, but it was forever enough to scare Xander, and he and Anya were way more normal – I mean, their relationship was more norm… er, accepted. I’m not saying you aren’t normal, but vampires, and, and dead and living, slayers and slay-ees…”

Buffy took pity on Willow and her ever-deepening hole of argument. “I get what you’re trying to say, Will. I do. All I know is, I almost died, again, and when I woke up, you know what? Spike was there, holding my hand. Maybe that’s all love has to be. I’ve been struggling my whole life to find this cosmic violin-solo sign of true love, but maybe there’s just having someone there when things get too tough. Maybe that’s all I really need.”

“Well, maybe you should give it a month or so, before we have to deal with picking out party favors. Just to give people time to get used to the idea.”

Buffy pouted. “I guess. Anyway, it’s nice to have something fun to talk about for a change, and it’s not like I can talk to Spike since he stuck around for all of four seconds after I regained consciousness.”

A bright smile broke across Willow’s features. “You miss him already! That’s cute!”

Buffy scowled to show how un-cute it was. “Stupid vampire rushing off after Warren like it’s some kind of vital mission.”

“Yeah, how dare he.” Willow deadpanned, also carefully moving her nearly-empty bag of chips out of Buffy’s casual reach.

“What’s with the sarcasm?”

Willow shrugged. “If I’d gotten shot, I’d want to hunt Warren down.”

“If he’d shot you, you’d still be in the hospital.”

Willow lifted her chin. “You don’t know that.”

“What if he shot Tara?”

A dark stillness settled over Willow’s features, just a moment, but she shook it off. Standing, she picked up the potato chip bag and rolled its top closed. “I want to find Warren as it is. Tara spent all yesterday convincing me not to cast a tracking spell on the rotten little weasel. Which I still think is a good idea, by the way, and you should convince Tara to do it since I’m still on magic probation.” Willow looked down at herself after stashing the chips in the back of the cupboard. “Can magic withdrawal make you fat?”

“First off, it would take millennia to make you fat, and second off, I was eating those.”

Willow crossed her arms, resolve face fully in evidence. “You were shot. You nearly died.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “So I have to eat healthy now?” She walked to the fridge like she was on her way to a death march.

“How can you be so calm?”

Buffy frowned into the barren depths of the fridge. Yogurt. Pickles. She briefly considered what they’d be like together, but opted for just the yogurt. “Because I am.” She bumped the fridge closed with her hip. “Nearly dying? Not even a big in my book, anymore.”

“Don’t say that.” Willow leaned on the counter, fingering the edge of her psych textbook despondently. “I know it’s part of being the slayer and all, but a blasé attitude toward death isn’t healthy.”

Settling back onto her bar stool she peeled back the top of the yogurt. “I’ll tell you what is new, though – having the police looking for the bad guy for me. I can’t believe it. We all filled out reports, got to use his real name and everything, and there’s an APB or whatever. Do you realize how refreshing that is after years of freak barbecue fork accidents and PCP gangs?”

“Yeah, refreshing.” Willow fidgeted with her textbook. Under her breath, she said, “I could zap him into a holding cell like it was nothing.”

Buffy put her hand over Willow’s, stopping her incessant worrying of a tear in the cover. “Hey, you’re helping. You’re helping in the best way, just being here to talk to, okay? If it makes you feel better, I’ll ask Tara to make a… an anti-Warren protection spell. You can research it.”

Willow’s smile was bittersweet. “Back to being research girl.” She patted the book.

“Our top, best, and possibly only research person,” Buffy corrected.

“Only until Giles gets here,” Willow said with mock petulance, but Buffy could tell she was pleased.

Then Buffy blinked. “Wait. Giles is coming?”

The kitchen door burst open, admitting a smoking bundle of army blanket that ran straight into the baking rack, cursed, and then stumbled back into the hallway entrance, where Spike dropped the blanket. He was holding a paper sack.

Stunned silence reigned as he shook himself and nonchalantly walked back to the kitchen island. “Our homicidal nerd came into Willy’s, bragging about having shot — and incidentally killed — the Slayer. They chased him out of town.” Spike dropped his bag on the table and patted himself down. “That’s the problem with demons. All talk, no follow-through. Lazy bastards. Still, if robot-boy thinks he succeeded, suspect he won’t come back. But I have my sources looking out. They’d better or I’ll break their horns off.” He picked a jar up out of the paper sack, set it on the counter, and then looked up at two nearly identical stunned expressions. “What?”

“You bought Nutella,” Buffy said.

“Your sleeve is on fire,” was Willow’s response, in much the same tone.

“Fuck!” Spike jumped over the counter and shoved his arm into the sink, where a batter-bowl was soaking, full of water. Pancake-mix clouded water splashed everywhere. Spike half-turned back toward them and tried to look cool with his arm still safely immersed. “So, what are you birds up to? Shouldn’t you be in bed, love?”

“Slayer healing,” Buffy said, eyes fixed on the Nutella jar. “What else did you buy?” She abandoned her yogurt to peer into the bag. “Twizzlers, hot chocolate mix, green things,” she set the items on the counter as she named them.

“Leeks,” Spike provided, now drying himself off with the gingham kitchen towel that had been hanging over the stove. “That’s a vegetable, right? Good for you.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow and lifted a whole roasting chicken out of the bag. “Is this your attempt at getting me groceries?”

Spike scowled. “What do you mean, ‘attempt’? Gotta look after my girl, don’t I?”

“Look after me?” Buffy put her hands on her hips. “I’m not twelve.”

Willow slipped quietly out of the kitchen while Spike was still puffing up his chest for his response.

***

In her own room, the door securely locked, Willow dug a small box out of the back of her closet, under a camouflaging layer of shoes.

“It’s up to me, now,” she whispered, laying out her supplies.


	8. Consummation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt I needed to introduce something this story has been lacking: Actual Spuffy Sex!
> 
> Woo!

“Fine,” Spike said, nostrils flaring and tone implying that things were anything but. “You’re a big, strong, independent slayer and all that rot. You don’t want me to do anything for you? I’ll remember that when you’re asking me to hold your purse while you slay.” He squared up to her. “But right now, you are going back to bed.”

Buffy felt a warm flush pass over her at Spike’s closeness, his hard muscles quivering just a little with anger and frustration. “I don’t need to go back to bed!” she responded, eyes locked on his, wanting to hit him, wanting to smash him, wanting to…

“Wait a tic,” a smug grin grew across his face. “You’re thinking about kissing me, aren’t you?”

It was like when you realized a dream was a dream – suddenly the whole situation was absurd. Buffy took a step back. “We’re arguing,” she reminded him.

“Yeah,” he said, fondly, and sauntered into her personal space. “First you hit me, then you jump my bones. Isn’t that how it works?”

“No!”

He tilted his head at her. The smug, evil head-tilt.

“Okay! Fine! That was how it worked, yes, but it shouldn’t have and now… that’s not what this is, Spike. I…”

The dream was dissipating. She remembered why she and Spike weren’t such a good idea, and it wasn’t all “vampire evil”.

Spike was looking at her with growing worry, so open and vulnerable.

Buffy covered her eyes with her hand. It helped. “This is one of those elephant in the room things.”

Spike’s eyes flicked down. “Well, it is pretty big.”

She popped him in the nose. And then jumped back. “See – that’s the problem. It’s too easy to hit you.”

Holding his nose, he scowled. “So I’ll learn to duck.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Dropping his hands, he squinted at her. “So you’ll marry me but you can’t _argue_ with me?”

Now she really wanted to hit him. “Never mind,” she said, and pushed past him to put the chicken away.

Spike caught her around her waist and nudged her ear with his nose. “You’re bloody gorgeous when you’re mad at me.”

His voice slid into her ear and turned her insides to liquid. She wriggled around to face him, her hands pressing him back. “Stop.”

“Why?” He chuckled as he spoke. “We’re legit, now. No need to feel ashamed, no hiding.” He lowered his voice, and his lips, right to her ear, “We can kiss right here in the kitchen.”

Whatever was left solid in her liquefied, too, and formed a hot pool between her hips. She needed to stop this, now. That was why she slammed him into the wall by the kitchen phone. And then jumped up into his arms. Just to… show him how angry she was at his condescending attitude.

He growled, muscles shifting and grinding against her as they struggled for dominance. Buffy’s back hit the wall hard. Spike immediately backed off, looking worried and almost dropping her. “Bloody hell, Slayer! Look what you made me do! You’re recover…”

She shut him up with a kiss. Buffy levered herself against him until she was rubbing right where it felt best and Spike was straining to maintain lip-lock as she lifted. Their lips broke apart for a breath and Buffy said, “Stop telling me what to do.”

And he instantly looked contrite and a little worried, which made Buffy melt just a little bit and she sank down against him, kissing his pouty lips.

He looked helpless, confused, and just how she loved him best, how he often looked when she kissed him. His hand ran gently over her injured side and his head cocked. “I’m trying to understand, love, but you twist me all around. Are we still fighting?”

She shushed him with a finger against his lips. “I’ll go to bed, if you go with me.”

His concern melted into a delicious, slightly predatory smile and Buffy squealed in delight as he hauled her over his shoulder and sprinted for the stairs. She hadn’t been carried to bed since she was little and there was something giddy about the walls passing her quickly, the ceiling coming close and dropping away again. Her stomach flipped and she saw her room from a completely new perspective and then was landing with surprising softness on the bed.

Spike crouched over her, attempting a lecherous grin but looking too adorably happy to really pull it off. She reached up to him and he caught her hands. “Now, now, little girl – we’re going to be very careful with you.”

“Not too careful,” she pouted.

He dove in for another kiss. Score. Spike never could resist the pout.

And then he was rolling her shirt up over her abdomen, kissing here and there and then all around the bandages that still smelled of iodine and antiseptic. He was being tender, and gentle, but she suddenly felt too exposed, embarrassed. Her stomach tightened. He looked up, concerned.

“No, it’s okay,” she said. “I can hardly feel it.”

“Well, we’ll have to change that.” His tongue curled against his top teeth and his expression was pure panty-melting hotness. Buffy squirmed, legs opening around him.

And they seemed to melt together, just perfect and gentle and smooth. Until Buffy had a thought, a not very coherent thought, and stiffened.

Spike popped up immediately, searching her face with concern. “What is it?”

She couldn’t express it, only that this wasn’t right, somehow – she felt guilty, or maybe she felt…

Spike lowered his lips to her ear. “Think we ought to wait until the wedding, love?”

Buffy’s eyebrows shot up and she pushed him back to see if he was serious. That was an awful, terrible, evil idea! But his eyes were all crinkled with laughter.

She gave him a playful swat. “No! No. It’s just… like starting over. We’ve never…” She bit her lip, unable to list the things they’d never done because it was a list that sounded like love.

“I know,” he said, and kissed her, gently letting her off the hook.

She sighed and settled back, comfortable and comforted. Why did they always say the right things, only when they didn’t speak? She met Spike’s eyes and they crinkled again, like he knew exactly what she was thinking. He probably did.

Something deep inside of her relaxed, something that had been holding tense so long she forgot it could. And then everything just was.

***

Spike sauntered out of the shower, looking evil and pleased with himself, toweling his hair. “Wonder where Red got off to?” He let the towel drop to the floor.

Buffy put her hands on her hips and looked pointedly down at the towel on the floor, then back up at… guh! Naked Spike! MORE evil grin. She looked back at the towel and pointed at it. “Who do you think is going to pick that up?”

He scratched his belly. “Do I care?”

“I care, therefore you care.” When his only response was a dumfounded look, she said, “What happened to you doing what I say if I marry you?”

He shrugged. “I thought that would refer to, you know, sexy things.” He touched his tongue to his teeth and leered. “I seem to recall a lot of ‘don’t stop’ and ‘yes, right there!’ in the recent past.”

Buffy picked up the towel and threw it at him. It hit his belly with a wet smack, and she tried not to think about how sexy that was as she stomped away.

Her own hair was blow-dried but still damp and she went down to the living room so she could watch TV while she brushed. She set her brush, leave-in-conditioner spray, and scrunchy down on the coffee table and picked up the remote. She was on her second pass through – darn her Doublemeat salary for not supporting basic cable – when Spike came in, the damp towel tucked low around his hips.

“So, what, is the towel thing a one-off, or is that like a house rule?”

She gave up on finding anything better than the Today Show and set the remote down. “Everyone knows you don’t leave towels on the floor. That’s just gross.”

“I don’t see how the towel cares. You have to leave it dry before you put it in the laundry or it’ll mildew.”

“So hang it up.”

“Sounds like work.” Spike wrinkled his nose and dropped onto the couch next to her. “But I’ll do anything for you, my love.”

His towel was falling off, his legs were spread wide, and he was making kissing noises at her cheek that reminded her more of being teased by boys in elementary school than anything romantic. She smacked him with her brush, which promptly broke in half.

“Stupid thick vampire skull! Look what you did!”

He twisted the broken-off handle out of her hand with a careful disarming move, his other hand palm-out, placating. “I’ll get you a new one, love.”

“I said,” Buffy launched herself at him, pinning him to the couch. “I don’t want you to support me!”

They wrestled over the broken-off hairbrush, and Spike looked genuinely afraid, which was silly; it was plastic, not wood. They fell off the couch together just as the front door opened.

“Good lord!”

Giles stood in the doorway, one hand still on the knob.

The universe froze and Buffy waited to spontaneously combust from pure embarrassment.

Spike twisted under her. “Haven’t you heard of knocking, wanker?”

Buffy realized she was straddling Spike, pinning his hands to the floor, and his towel was still on the couch. She jumped up, than realized Spike was completely exposed to watcher-vision, said, “Gah!” and threw a couch cushion on him.

Which he casually brushed away as he stood. “So, Rupert.” He waggled the broken brush handle. “Slayer’s struggling just to keep her head above water, and you leave her to flounder, but what, we announce our nuptials and you come running?”

Buffy threw the towel at Spike, which he also ignored.

“Would it trouble you to put some clothes on,” Giles said through clenched teeth. Stiffly he stepped into the room and slammed the door behind him. “It’s two in the bloody afternoon.”

Spike petted his abdomen fondly. “If you don’t like the view, don’t come barging in.”

“I thought I heard a struggle.” The glasses came off; the handkerchief was out.

Buffy put both hands on Spike’s chest and pushed him into the hall. “Stay!” She hissed.

He started to protest, but she hurried away before he could. Giles was still right in front of the door. Buffy held out her hands and opened her mouth. “It’s not…” What it looks like? Was she crazy? She swallowed and took a step forward. “So… when did you get back?”

Bam! The glasses were off again. “My plane landed a few hours ago. I’m sorry; I should have called.”

“So, you, um, know about…” she glanced behind her, where Spike was peeking around the doorway. She waved him back and turned to Giles, smiling guiltily. “Stuff?”

Giles stepped closer, his eyes kinder, full of concern. “Xander said that you’d been shot.”

“Better now,” Buffy replied cheerily, patting her shirt over the bandage. “Tara was a big help. I think she should switch to pre-med.”

A little bit of a smile in response. “Yes, quite.” Giles tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket, and then drew out a powder that he threw at her. “Artemis, hear my plea, take this spell away with thee!”

Buffy spit bitter herb-tasting powder and waved her hand in front of her face. “Ew. Willow’s spell-breaking attempts weren’t this stinky.”

Undeterred, Giles got out a scrap of paper and put his hand on Buffy’s head. “Great Aphrodite, if this your will…”

Buffy knocked Giles’ hand away. “Put your Aphrodite away, Giles. It’s not a spell.”

He looked likely to cast another anti-magic spell, but Buffy quelled him with her very best unimpressed look. He walked to the nearest chair and sat down, looking unsteady. “This is very sudden, Buffy. You can’t know your mind in this.”

“Actually, it’s not big with the sudden.” She grimaced. Confession time! She sat down next to Giles and took in a big breath. “Spike and I – well, he’s been there for me. And we’re close. Guess we were moving closer all the time. We’ve been seeing each other since…” Buffy grimaced. “Xander’s big musical number? How long ago was that?”

Giles’ hand twitched toward his pocket, but he managed to not give his glasses their third polish in five minute’s time. “This isn’t some ill-conceived attempt to punish me for leaving, is it?”

“Come on! You know me better than that. This… it’s just my life, Giles.” She shrugged.

From the hallway, Spike’s voice rang loudly, “Wait ‘til you see who’s best man!”

Buffy marched to him, grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the stairs. “You! Go get dressed and no more eavesdropping!” Frowning, she added, “And who’s best man?”

“You see how she treats me?” Spike laughed, obviously loving it. So she slapped him on his bare butt to get him moving.

He jumped two stairs and howled. “That’s it, Slayer! Really put your arm into it!”

Giles’ mouth was half open in shock.

“Sorry.” Buffy looked around, eager for something to fidget with. Spike’s towel was on the floor by the weapons chest. She picked it up. “I… you know how he is. He’s giddy with causing embarrassment. It’s how he channels his evil these days, I guess.” She twisted the towel and sat again.

“He’s evil,” Giles said. “Not only that, if he weren’t evil, he’d still not be pleasant to be around. I can’t believe this, Buffy. I didn’t quite believe Xander when he called me. I suspected a practical joke right up until I came through that door and saw…” he broke off and covered his eyes. “Good lord.”

Giles was saying that a lot. Buffy watched her hands on the towel. “I know he acts like the world’s oldest toddler sometimes, but you get close to him and you see it’s an act. He’s really sweet.”

Giles looked at her like she’d suggested the sky was purple.

“If you could see… there’s this quiet, shy part of him that he doesn’t want anyone to know, but it’s there, and he’s scared but he gives all of himself anyway. I just… how am I supposed to fight that?” She’d twisted the towel completely into a rat-tail now and let it hang so it would un-twist. “He asked me to marry him. I said yes. That’s all you need to know.”

She felt proud, hearing the words come out – proud and strong. She looked expectantly at Giles.

He coughed. “And that, when I came in…?”

“Yeah, we were fighting. Our fights kind of end like that.” She shrugged. “That’s sort of how it all started.”

“Good lord,” he said, again, and fell back in his chair, defeated.

Buffy dropped on top of him with a hug. “I missed you,” she said.

He patted her back. “Desperately, apparently.”

In the interests of happy reunions, she didn’t challenge him on that.


	9. The Father of the Bride

Buffy herded Spike upstairs to dress, leaving Giles to poke around the kitchen with Willow. He was feeling head-spun, jetlagged, and famished.

“Nutella and leeks?” Giles straightened out of the refrigerator, frowning.

Willow shrugged from her perch on a chair, rummaging in the cupboards overhead. “Apparently, Spike did the shopping. He’s not very up on human nutritional needs. Hey, at least he got cocoa.” She waved the box triumphantly and hopped down.

“Yes, because that contains so many vital minerals.” Giles rolled his eyes and closed the refrigerator. “Has Spike been around all that often?”

Willow looked torn. “I’m not really sure,” she confessed, “but I do think it’s sweet; the big bad is now the big grocery-getter.”

“Please tell me you aren’t approving of this, this…” Giles gave up on finding something remotely healthy to eat and carried the teakettle to the sink to fill it. Under his breath, he said, “I never thought I’d look back fondly on her dalliance with Angel!”

“I had Tara run all sorts of magic detection.” Willow shrugged. “It’s not a spell, and Buffy seems happy, at least. It’s not like it’ll last forever.”

Giles slammed the kettle on the burner. “They. Are. Getting. Married. Is there a lack of permanence there I am missing?” He held out his hand as Willow opened her mouth. “And please do not tell me I’m behind the times or that this is California. Regardless of the state of matrimony or our proximity to Hollywood and Las Vegas, we are not talking about a- a fling!”

Willow stood a moment by the cupboard, two mugs in hand, but then she shook her head and set them down on the counter. “Honestly, I just don’t care that much. Spike’s kind of a known quantity, you know? He’s predictable – evil lite.”

“You should all know better than to underestimate a vampire, especially one as old and renowned as William the Bloody.”

Willow raised an eyebrow. “We’re talking about Spike. I wouldn’t trust him with Miss Kitty Fantastico on poker night, but he’s just… Spike.”

Giles tried to formulate a counter-argument, but even saying that he had once threatened all their lives didn’t seem very compelling for some reason. “I confess I’d be happier dealing with him as an enemy than a potential son-in-law.” He frowned at his own words and shook his head, sinking into a chair by the counter.

“More like slayer-in-law,” Willow corrected.

Giles winced. “I was supposed to go riding today. Now here I am discussing Spike and Buffy… together.” He picked up a butter knife with a sigh, “And eating Nutella on toast for supper.”

“There are more important things than who is sleeping with who around here,” Willow said, and Giles looked up in surprise. “Hey, we’re all grown up now, remember?” She sat next to him, her eyes on the teakettle, her hands on her empty mug. “Anyway, there’s something I have to talk to you about.”

“Something more important than who is sleeping with whom,” he provided.

“Has anyone talked to you about the guy who shot Buffy?”

Giles looked relieved. “Apart from what you mentioned on the phone…”

There was a door slam overhead and Buffy’s voice cut through the distance, “Do NOT argue with me while Giles is here!”

“… I’m afraid I’ve been rather distracted by other matters,” he concluded, and got up to see if staring at the kettle would make it whistle faster.

Willow slipped into his peripheral vision. “So you know how Tara asked me to cut back on the magic?”

“You mean after you stole all our collective memories, leaving us unable to defend ourselves against the weakest of adversaries and making me believe Spike was my son? Yes, I might recall that.”

Willow slouched against the counter. “I know I screwed up, but does that mean all magic is bad? People cast spells every day.”

Giles raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware spellcraft was becoming a common American hobby.”

The kettle started to hiss, prior to whistling, and Giles turned it off. Willow hurried to line up the mugs and cocoa powder. “Anyway,” she said, “I don’t think I should have to go cold-turkey on the magic. What if something bad happens and magic is the only solution?”

Giles quirked a smile. “Buffy told me you’d cast a dispel-magic charm on her. I do not blame you in the slightest. I did the same.”

“Oh, good.” Willow watched the little lump of cocoa powder rise like a small island. “So, if, say, I knew a crime had been committed, and…”

“Watcher!” Spike strode into the kitchen, thankfully fully clothed. “Tell the slayer that she is not going to that awful job of hers with a bullet hole in her. If they won’t give her another day off, I’ll tear their noses off.”

Buffy hurried in after him, an apologetic look on her face. “I already called and asked for the day off and they said no. I had my regular day this week already and missed yesterday’s shift without calling.”

“She risks her life protecting these people,” Spike began.

Giles set down his as-yet untouched cocoa. “Yes, I can see I did leave far too soon.”

Buffy stepped between Giles and Spike. “I’m handling this,” she said, firmly, and turned back to Spike, “Someone has to earn money to keep food on this table, or would you rather Dawn starve?”

“Fine. I’ll go flip the burgers,” Spike said.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Buffy said.

Willow looked sidelong at Giles.

“Oh, bugger it. Spike, could I have a word?”

Spike and Buffy were barely an inch apart, oblivious to anything other than their on-going argument.

“Someone has to protect you! What if robot-boy came back with better aim?”

“Don’t give me that, if Warren was still out there, you wouldn’t have given up and come home.”

“I didn’t give up! Just didn’t see the point in scouring the earth for one nerd. Anyway, what if some nasty got hold of your work schedule?”

“William!” Giles shouted. Voices silenced. Three pairs of eyes stared at him, Spike’s the widest of them all. Giles sighed. “Yes, you. A word, please. Now.”

Giles led the way into the dinning room. He turned to find Spike following sulkily. Giles crossed his arms and tried to keep his voice quiet. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Spike straightened. “I think I’m doing ‘none of your business’.”

“I think it is my business if you’re using this sudden – attachment – of Buffy’s to try and control her actions.”

“So you’re the only one who can boss the slayer around, is that it? Even when you swan off for half a year and leave her to struggle?”

Giles could see Buffy peering around the corner. He walked further into the room. “I certainly don’t recall leaving you in charge.”

“She’s in charge.” Spike stepped in front of Giles, arms crossed. “I just want to see she doesn’t get taken advantage of.”

“Yes, about that.” Giles and Spike were now in the very back corner of the dining room, by the antique cupboard Joyce had loved, now covered in dust and piles of bills and papers. Giles leaned quite close and kept his tone civil. “I don’t know how you convinced Buffy to forget herself like this, but if you so much as embarrass her publicly, I will stake you myself and damn the consequences. Am I clear?”

Small wrinkles formed on Spike’s chin as he pressed his head back. “You’d stake a defenseless…”

“Yes,” Giles cut him off. “And with a clean conscience.”

Buffy was waiting at the entrance to the kitchen. “What did you say to him?”

“I will allow you to make your own choices. I will even turn a blind eye to the dangers Spike presents, but I will never condone this travesty of a marriage. I only hope you wake up before he hurts you.”

Buffy folded her arms. “Are you done?”

“Yes, I think I am.” Giles went back to the living room and picked up his jacket. “I need to find a hotel and something to eat,” he said. He looked back at Buffy. She was standing in front of a petulant vampire in what he feared was a protective posture. “Good night,” Giles said.

***

Willow chased Giles out the door. “Hey, I can drive you.” She waved her keys.

Giles had reached the sidewalk and was apparently realizing his cab was no longer there. He sighed. “Thank you. I suppose it’s the Budgetel for me tonight.”

“I feel like this is all my fault.” Willow flapped her arms helplessly.

Giles got quietly into her beat-up sedan and Willow wished she’d had time to get it fixed. It still made these worrisome squealing noises whenever she turned left. But she also needed to talk to Giles, and resented that Buffy and Spike’s fantastically crazy relationship had stolen the show.

Still, they were halfway to the highway before Willow managed to blurt out, “So, about using magic and the guy who shot Buffy…”

Giles gazed wearily out the window. “Yes, Willow, I do understand what you were trying to say. I think it would be a perfectly valid use of your powers to cast a location spell on this Warren Mears fellow and call in an anonymous tip to the police.”

“Thanks,” Willow gave a strained smile. Under her breath, she added, “That would have been a good idea, too.”


	10. Cold Feet

Giles left with too much dignity for the firm closing of the door to be called a slam, but it felt like one to Buffy. And then Willow gave her an apologetic look and rushed after Giles.

Buffy was left staring at the closed door.

Behind her, Spike said, “That could have gone better.”

Buffy spun to face him.

“What?” Spike dropped onto the couch, mug of blood in his hands. “Why are you looking at me like it’s my fault?”

Buffy threw her hands out. “Giles! My mentor! My… who do you think is going to walk me down the aisle?”

Spike had an “aren’t you cute” expression. “The old goat will rail, but you know he’s not going to refuse you.”

“How can you be so…gah!” Buffy stomped up to him and took the mug from his hands. “Giles is the smartest person I know. He’s the guy I trust with the big life and death decisions.”

Spike’s face was hard with anger. “He’s just another git who left you ‘for your own good’.”

Buffy was undeterred. “AND, if the smartest person I know says I’m making a big mistake, don’t you think I should consider that?”

Spike’s face crumbled. “No,” he said, very softly.

Buffy took a step back. “I need to think.”

She turned and walked away. Spike jumped up and pursued her. At the base of the stairs, he grabbed her arm to turn her around. She glared at him and he let go. He took a slow breath. “Don’t,” he said.

“All you’ve done since I said yes is tell me what to do.”

He backed off. “Sorry, love. Don’t listen to me. I’m an idiot man who doesn’t know when he’s got a good thing going.”

Buffy sighed and turned to walk up the stairs. “I still have to get ready for work.”

“I’ll help you.”

She stopped to give him an incredulous expression.

“Come on, love. Helped Dru get dressed lots of times. I’ll fetch your stockings and hold your hair brush.”

“Just stop… stop helping.” She waved him off.

Spike watched her go up the stairs, the weight of the world back on her shoulders. Would it ever come off permanently? For a time he just listened to her moving around, and paced. He saw the mug of blood on the coffee table, going cold and congealed. Irate, he snatched it up, spilling a bit, and carried it to the kitchen, dumping it down the drain. Then he had to wash it. And then he brought a rag to the living room to clean up the spill.

That used up not nearly enough time.

Couldn’t catch Warren. Couldn’t make the Slayer happy. Couldn’t punch Giles. What good was he? He looked out the front window at the calm suburban street until he got the distinct impression he was brooding.

Buffy came down the stairs, a vision in hideous orange stripes, the ridiculous plush cap in her hand.

“You look beautiful,” he said. She almost smiled.

“I’ll be back around ten.” She picked up her keys from the hook by the door.

The front door flew open, startling her back. Giles stormed in. “I can’t believe you would do something so reckless. So… so obscene!”

Willow followed, looking anxious. “I’m sorry! I already said I’m sorry!”

Giles whirled around in the middle of the room. “Where is he? It. Him.”

“The linen closet, upstairs.” Willow paused in wringing her hands just long enough to point up.

Giles strode up the steps.

Spike gawped.

Buffy shook her head. “Willow, what did you do?”

“I wanted to turn Warren into a rat, and I wanted to bring him here, and I tried to do two spells at once, and I didn’t think it would mess up like it did. I’ve done location spells a million gajillion times!”

Upstairs, there was a strange, animalistic squeal, and Giles said, “Good lord!”

“Right,” Buffy said, putting on her cap. “I’m out of here.”

***

The walk home from work was kind of pleasant, peaceful. Buffy rather liked walking alone at night. She was tired, her feet sore, mind on a bath and maybe Spike-snuggles – and feeling pleasantly guilt-free about the snuggles-thought, so she wasn’t thinking about the mess she’d left until she saw the lights were all on in the house and a small group were gathered on the porch.

Tara, Dawn and Spike sat on the steps while Giles paced the length of the porch, a book open in his hands. Spike jumped up as she approached, but looked unsure how close he should come to her. He glanced back at Giles, and finally met her by the end of the drive. “So, yeah,” he said with half a shrug, “Warren’s a rat-monster.”

Buffy wanted to say “So what else is new?” but she knew in her life, things were usually literal. “Like three-headed king of the rats or what?”

Spike scratched behind his ear. “Red’s got him in a dog-carrier. You can see for yourself. It’s not pretty, though.”

“Welcome to my life,” Buffy said, striding past him. “Dawn – homework. Hey Tara. Hey Giles.” She didn’t listen to Dawn’s protests –something about not needing to do homework when there was research to be done.

On the floor in front of the coffee table was a medium-size dog cage. Inside of it was a miserable-looking, squat, rat-monster. It was all elephant-skin and patchy black hairs with an over-long, crooked snout and long yellow teeth that kept it from being able to shut its mouth all the way. Its lips bled where the teeth had touched. It was shivering and whimpering.

Willow sat on the couch, hands between her knees, looking at it with red-rimmed eyes. “I’ve tried unspelling it. I don’t even know what to feed it.” She looked up at Buffy. “Tara won’t let me try anymore. It was… getting worse.”

“What the heck, Willow?” Buffy couldn’t quite look away.

“I wanted to help! I had to do something!”

Buffy thought for a moment how much Willow and Spike had in common. She shook her head. “I’m taking a bath,” she said. “Why don’t you join the research-party? With you and Giles both on the case, we’ll have an answer soon.”

In the cage, rat-Warren twitched and wriggled, trying to get a leg under him. The claws on his hind-legs were over-long, too, and scratched futilely on the slick cage floor.

“Someone has to watch him,” Willow said, sounding guilty and unmovable.

Spike came in as quietly as he could, closing the door behind himself and waiting for something. Buffy shook her head at him and headed up the stairs. He followed. She stopped him. “Go help Giles.”

“But, love, it’s nothing, is it? Why not just kill the evil bastard, now that he’s not human?”

Buffy stared at Spike, at his earnest, confused face that hid a brain that could say that. She shook her head. “Go,” she said, and shut the bathroom door on him.


	11. The Best Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *sniffle* I can't believe it's almost over!! *clings to story*
> 
> This chapter is a bit long - almost twice the length of some other chapters - but it kinda needed to be that way.
> 
> This is also the last chapter beta'ed by **snickfic** since I procrastinated too much to send her the ending. Thanks for the help, hon!

Buffy came out of her much-needed quiet bath to find Willow in tears, Tara AWOL and Dawn sulking, the door to her room open so she could eavesdrop without admitting that was what she was doing.

"Like I even want to go on a road-trip with boring old people," Dawn muttered into her diary, just loud enough to be heard.

“We’re going to take care of this abomination well away from the hands of amateur witches,” Giles announced, coming up the stairs with an address book in one hand, a finger tucked between the pages.

Willow gave him a hateful look and slammed the door to her room.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “There’s that famous British politeness.”

“I’m rather beyond polite,” Giles said, teeth tight. “It’s clear Willow will not give up her dependence on magic without someone taking a firm hand. For the time being, I’m removing spell-casting from here. We’ll go to Los Angeles. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce had top marks in transformation magic, and has agreed to help us restore this unfortunate young man back to his proper shape.” Giles checked the address book and closed it again. “It’s about a four-hour drive. Are you up to it?”

Buffy looked longingly at her bedroom door and patted her towel-wrapped head to subtly remind Giles she was in the middle of something. “If you don’t mind me sleeping all the way there. Where’s Spike?”

“Preparing the car.” Giles made a small note on his book. He’d started a checklist.

“So you trust him to do that?”

Giles gave her a sour look. “There are many things I trust William the Bloody to do, none of which involve your marital happiness.”

“Yeaaaaah, but sometimes you like having him around,” Buffy said, and kissed Giles’ cheek.

He looked a little pleased, but flustered, and failed to say anything else before Buffy had retreated to her room.

She suspected Giles had ulterior motives for wanting to go to L.A., but she wasn't pressing him on it.

After changing and a nap, she came downstairs to find Spike bustling around on errands for Giles. He didn’t come up to her, but he wouldn’t go away, either. When she glanced at him, he gave her kicked-puppy looks. She couldn’t exactly chase him off, herself, or go up to him. They were stuck at a certain distance from each other. He sat as far as he could from her in the car. Somehow it made his absence in the rear-view mirror feel intentional.

But even full of angsty thinky-thoughts, as soon as they hit the road, Buffy fell blissfully asleep. She awoke a little at a gas station, where Spike handed her a bag of her favorite chips like a peace treaty. She took them and said “thanks” and kept looking at his non-reflection as she ate.

Wesley met them in front of the big old hotel Angel was living in now, and seemed genuinely interested in the rat-thing in the cage as Spike lifted it out of the back of the SUV.

“An anculous monstresis,” Wesley pronounced, taking off his glasses and peering into the cage. “Remarkable.”

“You think so?” Giles asked. “That seems rather far-fetched.”

“Not at all. A vengeful spirit, pulled through the ether, could easily contract the monstresis temporum…”

Giles and Wes started arguing in gobbledygook. Buffy strolled up to the hotel doors, admiring the tarnished brass and the constellation of broken and missing glass bulbs that filled the underside of the Hyperion’s awning.

Suddenly Angel was in front of her, and looking over her shoulder like a dog straining his leash. “What’s HE doing here?”

Buffy followed his gaze to Spike, who was glaring back just as intently. The Warren-rat yipped as Spike jerked the cage a little.

Oh yeah, ulterior motives. Buffy stepped in front of Angel, not that he couldn’t keep staring right over her head, but she could try to distract him. “Hey, nice to see you, too.”

Angel’s eyes re-focused on her a little petulantly. “Wes said Giles was coming, not…” he waved his hand past Buffy’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“Willow turned this annoying nerd into a rat.” Buffy crossed her arms and shrugged. “That’s pretty much all the backstory.”

Angel shifted uncomfortably and ducked his head down close to hers. “I know Spike’s been working with you since the chip, but it’s really weird, actually seeing him here and…”

He stiffened suddenly. Buffy had to step to the side as she turned to face him since he was leaning so close to her. There was an odd expression on his face. He sniffed her, like he was trying to place the scent.

And then he was charging at Spike. The cage with Warren-rat in it hit the ground with a squeal and clatter. Angel and Spike rolled together over the hood of Buffy’s mom’s car. (And she still thought of it as her mom’s car after all this.)

Wes and Giles ran after the escaping Warren-rat and Angel had Spike by the throat and called him a rapist.

“Stop it,” Buffy said, trying to get between them.

Spike kicked Angel off of him and snarled. “Ha! That’s rich, Liam! Least I waited until she was over 18.”

“I should never have let you leave LA,” Angel replied, getting to his feet and running back at Spike, who met him with a kick, which Angel blocked, and a punch, which he didn’t, and then Buffy had to scamper out of the way again.

“Wait - you’re fighting over me?” Buffy paused a moment, smiling stupidly, but then she had to side-step a roundhouse kick that came far too close and remembered to be annoyed. She grabbed a handful of the nearest black leather coat – it was Angel’s -- and pulled them apart.

Spike followed Angel up from the ground, fists flying, until he saw Buffy. His fists milled in the air. “He started it!”

“I don’t care who started it, finish it.”

Angel stopped struggling and looked down at Buffy a little worriedly.

Spike looked skyward and recited, “Angel, I’m sorry I beat your pathetic wide arse.”

Buffy glared at him to let him know that was not good enough and shook Angel.

Angel pouted at her. “What?”

“Say you’re sorry too, and make it halfway decent so he’ll see how he should have said it.”

“But I’m not sorry,” Angel said.

Giles came around the SUV, his hair wild and jacket askew. “If you’ve finished your male bonding,” he said, “we do have a former-human rat-monster to recapture.”

Spike straightened himself. “Right. I’m above this immature posturing. I’m off to help my lady.”

“Asshole,” Angel muttered, slinking off to the other side of Giles.

“Pillock,” Spike said.

Buffy had to smile. They were weirdly cute, like this. They kept glancing at each other, fists clenched, as they followed Giles into the alleyway behind the hotel. Wes was still half-under a dumpster and waved a hand at them as something dark scurried out and behind some boxes. Both vampires pounced after, scattering cardboard and making a huge racket, during which the rat-thing could have gone anywhere.

Buffy went back to the broken cage, picked it up and walked around the building the other way. Sure enough, in a few minutes they’d scared the poor Warren-thing back her way and she dropped the cage on it. Then she sat on the cage for good measure. Warren-thing squeaked and scrambled around, sometimes scratching at her, but not so much that she budged.

Angel was the first to reach her, face streaked with dirt and brick-dust. “You got it?”

She nodded.

He sat down next to her and heaved a breath. He shook his head and peered up at her. “You don’t want me to kill Spike?”

“Kinda the opposite.”

Spike came jogging around the corner and slowed as he saw them sitting together, his insecurities written in boldface all across his features. Buffy rolled her eyes and he tried to act like he wasn’t worried she’d run back into Angel’s arms the moment his back was turned.

Stupid vampires. Buffy hit the sides of the cage with her palms, getting Warren-rat to stop poking at her thighs. “So how do we get this guy into the hotel?”

It was all business after that. Spike found a piece of metal from the alleyway and slipped it under the cage while Angel held it down, and they carried the rat-thing into the hotel together, a breathless Giles and Wesley following, still arguing, between pants for breath, over what Warren WAS.

Buffy found Cordelia and a shower, in that order, and Cordy lent her a nice fluffy bathrobe. She hated smelling like rat-thing. Her bandages had to be replaced, though the bullet hole wasn’t bleeding. Cordy turned out to be handy with a first-aid kit, too.

“Far cry from doing each other’s nails, isn’t this?” Buffy asked as Cordy smoothed bandages against her chest.

Cordy grimaced. “It’s all I can do to keep mine filed even, with the world-saving and the hotel maintenance.”

“Growing up kind of sucks,” Buffy said.

Cordelia got up to put the medical kit away. While she was facing away, she asked, “You aren’t here to try to get back together with Angel, are you?”

Buffy laughed, but choked it back with a snort as Cordelia turned to face her. “No,” she said. “Wait, oh my god – you have a thing for Angel!”

Cordy made an elegant dismissal gesture. “It’s not that. He’s over two hundred years old and has the social skills of a teenager. Someone has to look out for him.”

Buffy wasn’t so sure it wasn’t that, but she kept her mouth shut, biting her lip and wondering how she felt about her ex-nemesis and her ex.

Buffy thanked Cordy and walked down to see how Team Watcher was doing on Rat-Warren. Angel was pacing the edges of the lobby. Spike was sitting sulkily on a round velvet seat. Wesley held a very big tome balanced in one hand and chanted in some language with a lot of slushy sounds. An orange light danced from the pages and over his irises before leaping out to Buffy and fizzling.

Buffy blinked. “Gee, thanks, guys. I’ve never felt more sure that I don’t have a magic spell on me.”

Wesley closed his book. “Only a precaution. Angel asked.” He fidgeted embarrassedly and then said, “Oh look – an excuse to leave the room,” and left.

“So, how’s our rat?”

Angel rolled his neck and took a deep sigh. “Downstairs with Giles. And um, he’s not a rat anymore.”

“Go team,” Buffy said, finishing the walk down the stairs. “So why do you two look like you’re waiting for a funeral?”

Angel looked at Spike, who looked back with a saintly sort of face. Angel crossed his arms and settled into a wide stance. “If you’re not under a spell, why did Spike ask me to be his best man?”

Spike’s face grew even more innocent-er as Buffy stared at him. “I don’t know, maybe because he likes abuse?”

Spike scowled. “I thought you’d like it, Slayer! And he’s my closest relative, isn’t he?”

Angel took a step closer to Buffy and lowered his voice. “You have your whole life ahead of you, don’t waste it on him.”

Buffy saw Spike waiting for her response. She closed her eyes and, oddly, thought about Cordelia. “I should, what?” She asked, opening her eyes. “Wait around not making a decision to be happy until the opportunity goes away?”

Angel squinted at her, his lips moving as he tried to figure out what she’d just said. Spike stood and said, “Ha! Slayer’s not here five seconds and she’s on to you, Peaches.”

“Who’s on to me? On to what? Shut up, Spike.”

Spike chuckled, sauntering into Angel’s personal space. “That is the souled set for you – always making excuses why you can’t be happy. ‘Oh not him – he hasn’t got a soul’ or ‘oh but it will ruin our friendship.’” He smiled unkindly.

Angel pushed Spike away. Spike dropped straight into a fighting stance. Buffy stretched her arms between them.

“Can we please, PLEASE not do this?” They looked oddly identical as they shifted their feet and looked away.

“Angel,” Buffy said, “I get to pick who I want to be with, even if you don’t approve.”

Angel muttered something that might have been affirmative, Buffy chose not to press him for better. She turned to Spike. “And Spike, stop antagonizing everyone. You ruin your own chances of happiness with this crazy insecurity. Just stop.”

His eyes got big. “I don’t… didn’t mean…” he coughed and straightened his shoulders. “Right, love, whatever you say.”

He was looking smugly at Angel as though he wanted to rub in the fact that he was behaving better, but at least that was done with.

Buffy took Spike’s vacated seat on the sofa. “So… do we go see Warren? What are we going to do with him once he’s normal again?”

“I could check,” Angel offered, then looked at Spike. “Or Spike could go check.”

Spike draped his arm over the seat-rest behind Buffy. “Aw, look at that – he’s afraid to leave us alone.”

“Let’s all go check,” Buffy said, and stood up.

She didn’t have to check to see if the boys followed.

***

Warren was human again – and naked (ew!)

Giles had given him his suit jacket to wear and he was crouching in the back of this jail cell in Angel’s basement.

“Why do you have a jail cell?” Buffy asked.

Angel shrugged.

Warren approached the bars. “You can’t keep me here! This is kidnapping! I know my rights!”

Giles wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “We do have the problem of how to turn him over to the authorities without being charged with, well, unlawfully detaining him.”

“It’s a lot easier dealing with vampires,” Buffy grumbled.

“I offered to kill him when he was a rat,” Spike said.

Buffy elbowed him, “We’re talking about that later.”

“What? He wasn’t human.”

Forgetting that she was holding it for later, Buffy hissed, “No killing former humans.”

“Come on! Every vampire’s a former human.”

“It’s different if you can change them back!”

Spike tilted his head. “So no killing Marashamir demons, either?”

Angel pushed past Spike a little harder than was strictly necessary. “I still have some contacts in the LAPD,” he said to Giles. “People who know how things really are. I’ll take care of it.”

Giles relaxed. “Thank you, Angel.”

***

As they made their good-byes, Angel pulled Buffy aside. “Listen, just let me know he’s not pulling you along with charisma and cheekbones.”

“You really think I’m that weak?”

Angel looked up. “They’re pretty hot cheekbones.”

Buffy smiled. “I haven’t lost my brain over Spike’s hotness. I just… he’s there for me. A lot.”

“I don’t trust him,” Angel said.

“You don’t have to,” Buffy replied.

She was surprised when he nodded. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I want you to know, I know what it’s like to love a soulless person. When Darla…” he shook his head, “It’s a long story. It’s possible, to love someone without a soul. I know that now. But you have to prepare yourself, Buffy, you have to ask yourself if your heart is strong enough for the consequences. He’ll break your heart. He won’t mean to, but he will, because there’s something missing in him, something that tells us right from wrong.”

Angel’s words rang in her ears the whole trip home, while Giles spoke of staying around a while longer with significant looks at Spike, and Spike fought for control of the radio between giving significant looks to her.

When they got to the house, he found his way to her side just as she opened the door. “Do you want me to stay tonight, love?”

Her heart broke a tiny bit, but she shook her head.


	12. Always a Bridesmaid

“Why do you always take his side?” Willow’s voice was loud and wet with tears and followed by a door slam.

Buffy looked at the ceiling and wished she hadn’t heard. She was peeling potatoes in the kitchen. When they’d gotten home, she’d tried to put the chicken and the leeks together in her mom’s largest pot with some water and just see what happened, but Giles had fortunately wrested dinner out of her hands and was doing something to the chicken that involved string over by the sink.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Buffy said, attempting to be cheerful.

“When one lives alone, one either learns to cook or becomes fat and miserable on fast food.” Giles smiled tiredly over his shoulder. “It’s not much of a choice.”

Tara walked meekly into the kitchen. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, sniffled, and asked, “Need any help?”

Buffy set down her potato peeler and wrapped Tara in a hug. It was just the natural thing to do. Tara’s cheek was wet but she smiled and patted Buffy’s back. “I’m okay.” She looked around. “Where’s Spike?”

“He went home.”

Tara examined Buffy’s face with a slightly worried expression. “Did you have a fight?”

Giles made a quiet noise like a laugh that’d grown old and lifted the chicken by its feet – er, drumsticks – and lowered it into the pot on the stove.

Buffy kept her eyes on the potatoes. “Angel’s right. Without a soul, it’s only a matter of time before Spike breaks my heart.”

She could tell they were both looking at her, and her eyes wanted to tear up. She peeled harder, sending little potato slivers across the counter.

“Having a soul doesn’t seem to stop anyone else,” Tara said.

The last potato slipped in Buffy’s hand. She had to stop and rotate it to get at the last bit of peel. She didn’t know what she would do when she finished.

Giles cleared his throat. “It’s hard to see, when you’re young, but heartbreak is a part of life. An almost vital part.”

Buffy no longer felt like she had to avoid looking at Giles, or avoid crying. So she did both. Giles’ face crumpled a bit on the edges as he looked back at her and he turned to the sink, running the tap to rinse his hands.

Tara put her arm around Buffy’s shoulders. “You think everyone knows better, and they’re all telling you to break it off, but if it makes you miserable to do that, then they’re wrong.”

Buffy stared at Tara.

Giles stared at Tara, too. “This is a soulless beast, we’re talking about. Just because something makes someone happy doesn’t mean it isn’t extremely bad for them.”

“But she’s miserable,” Tara said. She ducked her head and fiddled with her fingers on the edge of the counter. “I-I know some people think I should leave Willow. But that makes me miserable. So I’m going to stay, and help her.” She looked up, face stern. “But I’m going to be mad for a while, first.”

Buffy felt her mouth curving up. “I wish I could be more like you, sometimes, Tara.”

Tara ducked her head again, blushing.

Buffy scooped up the potato peels into a pile. “The thing is, Spike’s so… he’s over-the-top. He makes me feel like impossible things are easy. Sometimes being with him is so… effortless.” She glanced at Giles to see how he was taking this. He was studiously drying his hands. “And then,” Buffy continued, dropping the potato peels in the take-to-compost-box, “he does something that reminds me his idea of a healthy relationship up until recently was co-dependent vampire crazy.”

‘I confess,” Giles said softly, “I fail to understand the attraction.” He lined up the peeled potatoes in two neat rows.

Buffy wanted to make a snarky comment about that. Instead she flicked the last bits of sticky potato-peel off her fingers and went to the sink to wash her hands. “I know he won’t leave me.” Giles gave her an aghast look. “Permanence has been kind of lacking for me lately, and he stayed with Nut-zilla for a hundred years!” She dried her hands and stood next to Giles at the cutting board. “I guess I trust him. He’s always going to be there, whether I like it or not. And that’s kinda nice. So are we mashing or frying?”

Giles blinked, looked down at the potatoes like he’d forgotten they were there, and said, “Oh… um, mashed. Hand me that knife?”

Tara slipped between them with an amused look at took the knife from Buffy. “Let me help.”

Buffy suspected she didn’t like the idea of her and Giles and cutlery being together during a conversation about Spike. When she saw Giles looking lost for something to do with his hands, she smiled, too.

“So what’s next on the agenda? The green things?”

That made Giles roll his eyes, which was good because it broke the dangerous slide into brooding. “No, we won’t add them for a while yet. Buffy, it sounds to me like you haven’t quite made up your mind what it is you want.”

Buffy looked down at her hands. Her finger was rubbing next to the engagement ring, which she hadn’t taken off even though she knew she kinda should, but it was so pretty and she’d always wanted one just like it – always pictured herself someday having one just like it, and a handsome guy (not at all like Spike) asking her to marry him.

Buffy sighed and met Giles’ eyes. “Do you think I should go talk to Willow?”

“No,” Giles said, almost before she’d finished asking. “Absolutely not.”

“Then I think I’ll go check up on Dawn,” she said, and left the kitchen.

***

There wasn’t much to fight or kill in Sunnydale that night, much to Spike’s annoyance. He’d dusted two fledges by the Bronze and stopped in for a drink, but had to leave because the place reminded him of Buffy and he couldn’t get in a fight with human patrons.

Willy’s was dead so now he was just stalking the streets, hoping to run into something good and tough that he could rip to shreds with his bare hands. Even losing a fight would feel better than the helpless, nancy-boy anxiety over what Buffy was thinking, what she would do, what would she say. What was she doing right now?

He punched a brick wall.

Someone was sobbing. He frowned, looking up and down the empty street. Then he realized the sound was coming from inside the Magic Box.

Anya was behind the counter, putting magazines into a cardboard box and wiping her tears on the back of her hand with each pass. She looked up startled when the bell over the door rang.

“You shouldn’t keep open this late,” Spike said. “No invite rules keeping the nasties out.”

“We close at ten,” Anya straightened and hurried to the door. “I forgot to lock up.” When she was next to Spike she added, “You should go. I have no intention of having sex with you on the table again. It was nice, but not worth it.” She smiled tightly, patted his arm, and held the door open.

Spike smiled. “I’m a taken man, now, love, no need to worry.”

And with that, Anya fell against him, crying.

Feeling awkward and unsure what to do, Spike’s hands hovered near to patting or holding.

“Why don’t I get to get married?”

“Ah,” Spike said, gently pushing her back. “So that’s it?”

“Buffy has a million reasons to be more ashamed of you than Xander was of me,” she said, “but did she wait half a year to announce the engagement?”

Spike’s jaw ticked at the reminder that Buffy was ashamed of him. “She didn’t have a choice. Cat got out of the bag on its own.”

Anya closed and locked the door to the shop, turning over the “We’re Open” sign. “And I’m not saying what we had was a timeless connection or anything, but a girl doesn’t like sleeping with a guy and then finding out he’s engaged to someone else within the week.”

“I didn’t… thing is,” Spike stumbled over his tongue. “She gave me the shove-off. I wouldn’t have…”

“Not interested,” Anya announced, picking up the cardboard box full of magazines. “Men betray women. It was my business for a thousand years. You’d think I’d be used to it.”

Spike scowled and followed her through the shop. “That isn’t it and you bloody well know it.”

Anya took the box to the loading dock behind the store and set it on top of the dumpster. She rested her weight there a moment, blinking rapidly and holding her head up.

“Hey, there there,” Spike said, softening and stepping up to her. “He’s not worth it.”

“Maybe he is,” she countered, straightening. “Maybe he’s the only thing that is worth it, but I wasn’t pretty enough or good enough in bed or _tactful_.”

Her mouth twisted as she said “tactful” with particular scorn.

Spike took hold of her arms. “You don’t need to change yourself. You need to find the person who loves you for who you are. You’re a bloody amazing woman.”

“Does Buffy love you for who you are? Fangs and all?” Anya sniffled hopefully.

Spike sagged. “Not really.” He sat down on the edge of the loading dock. “I think she might love the bloke I could be, and that makes me want to be him.”

Anya settled next to him with a perturbed expression. “I don’t understand you.”

“I do,” Buffy said, stepping into sight from around the corner of the building.

Spike immediately stood and took a step away from Anya. “We were just talking,” he said, emphasizing the “just”.

Buffy smiled. “And I’m just out on an after-dinner patrol.” She strolled forward. “Hey, Anya.”

“Buffy,” Anya said, nodding in greeting. “I have a box of wedding magazines if you’re interested.”

“Thanks.” Buffy lightly hopped up onto the loading dock. Spike found himself as ever amazed by her grace. He had to take a step back as she approached him, just to keep admiring her.

“I like what you said,” Buffy told him. “About wanting to be a better man. And the thing about loving people for who they are.”

“Eavesdropping is rude,” Anya said. “Did you like anything I said?”

“Are you really jealous of me and Spike?” Buffy asked her. Spike didn’t like how amused she sounded.

Anya shrugged and looked a little miserable.

Buffy hugged her. “Thanks for being so honest,” she said, and turned to Spike. “Why don’t we go to Vegas and elope?”

Spike was pretty sure he felt his jaw completely unhinge and fall from his face.

“I want to get married. Right now.”

Spike recovered enough to say, “No you don’t, but thanks for saying it.”

“We’ll still have the hall and the blue dresses and ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’, but later. It’ll take planning and organizing and, god, shopping, and I want that, but I want the big step out of the way, so I can stop thinking about it. So I won’t have to worry about some disaster of cold feet and drama.”

“I completely support this plan,” Anya said. “Weddings should be fast and over with before people can change their minds or be visited by demons.”

Spike marveled at Buffy’s earnest little face, looking at him with determination and, yes, if he wasn’t completely fooling himself, love. But somehow he couldn’t keep himself from risking it all by asking, “Why?”

“Because you said you’d do anything for me.”

Spike warmed, stepping close to her. “I would.”

“Would you get a soul for me?” She looked like she was asking him to buy dinner.

Of all the things! Spike scowled. “So I could be like Angel, you mean?”

“So you could understand me.” Her eyes were so large, so full of meanings he just didn’t get.

He sighed and picked up her hand. “I don’t need a soul to be a better man, Buffy.”

She stepped closer to him. “Prove it,” she said.

He slipped his hands around her waist and grinned. “Yes ma’am,” he said, and kissed her.

They kissed a long time, slowly and comfortably, and didn’t notice Anya when she made a loud comment about respecting the feelings of the orgasm-deprived and stomped back into the shop.

When they broke apart, Spike felt like his brain had melted, he looked down at Buffy with childish awe while she smiled back at him.

“You’ll do,” she said.

THE END


End file.
